


Amarillo by Morning

by Fasnacht



Series: The Tattoo Trilogy [2]
Category: The Phantom Stallion Series - Terri Farley
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Best Friends, Cattle Drive, Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Coming of Age, Disability, F/M, Families of Choice, Feminist Themes, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Horses, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Injury Recovery, Large Families, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Panic Attacks, Physical Disability, Poetry, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Songfic, TBI, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-03-30 00:09:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 98,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3915820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fasnacht/pseuds/Fasnacht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The life Sam loved stole everything that mattered to her in one fateful second. Now, it's giving her the only chance she'll ever have to get it all back. Amarillo deals with the reality of long term recovery, relationships, and being both independent and interdependent all along the broken road to self-actualization. </p><p>Continuation of Run, which picks up a few months later. Second verse, same as the first, pretty much. Please mind the tags and your own triggers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Amarillo By Morning

_I'm never coming back here again_

_My memory has died on me again_

_How dare you put that shit in my head?_

_And I don't see how that's at all fair_

_Look at me, It's not at all fair_

_Are you watching me? I'm getting out of here_

_Never Coming Back Here Again_ , Lisa Maxwell

The white light exploded in her mind.

Sam jolted, sweat slicking over every pore in her body. She tried to push up with her left hand, and found that she could not do it. Her hand wouldn't bend. Something hard and plastic and sharp and painful held it in place.

Something was very, very, very wrong. The beeping resounding in her ears grew louder, and louder. Faster. Sam reached out blindly, felt a hand on her arm.

The grip was powdery, and somehow slick. "You're okay, Samantha."

It was a glove. Sam sucked in a breath as she figured out where she was, but the air could not get to her lungs. It filled her mouth, suffocating and heavy.

She did not want to be here. She had left a long time ago. She struggled softly, looking around blindly. She never, ever, slept on her back. Her throat was raw. That same voice broke into her rapid thinking, her desperate attempt to figure this all out. "It's a nightmare from the meds. You're okay, Sam..."

It hadn't been a nightmare. This wasn't a nightmare. Sam could barely move, but she tried to sit up, all the same.

The buzzing in her ears grew louder as she turned her head, desperate to rise above the dark something that was pulling her down, desperate to open her eyes. She couldn't force them to open.

The buzzing in her head was too loud, and whoever was sitting on her chest was crushing her. Her rbis felt cracked.

She swallowed, "No, no, no..." Her head felt heavy like she was being pulled under by a riptide, "Don't want to be here. Never again. I said. I swore...No..." She was reaching out for something, for someone.

There were voices swirling around her. Her father was there. So was Gram. She couldn't find Gram. She really, really, wanted Gram. She could hear her, even smell her, but she couldn't see anything but the ceiling beyond her closed eyelids. It was both dark and bright somehow and she couldn't find a way to open her eyes and listen to the words.

There was something wrong, something with her lungs. "Hurts." She pushed at the covers that felt like lead weights over her body. She wanted to scream, but she couldn't get the air. Panic was clawing at her, pulling her down as she suffocated.

The pressure was overwhelming, and the pain was consuming her. Sam sucked in another breath. It wasn't enough. She couldn't breathe. She was dying, and it was so hot. 

She didn't want to go where it was _hot_. Oh, God. 

"For God's sake, sit her up." Something deep inside of her was calmed at the sound of that voice.

There was a flurry of movement just beyond her eyes that made her lungs hurt. Someone moved the bed. She was in a bed.

"Sam. Open your eyes." Sam gasped for air, as she didn't comply. She could barely make out the meaning, "Sam. Now." Sam felt the movement of a body next to her before she opened her eyes, yanking her eyelids with every bit of force she could muster. The words demanded it.

Her stomach rolled, but she breathed as her unfocused eyes opened for a fleeting second, before it was too much and she slammed her eyes shut.

She could breathe.

She was safer.

Her sweaty palm found purchase on the hand that was covering the buttons to move the bed, and the beeping slowed. Her eyes fluttered before shutting tightly, and she tasted salt on her lips, felt the salt burn in the deep grooves that were raw.

It was only then that Sam realized that she'd been crying, sobbing. Her mind cleared, slowly, and after a shuddering breath, she opened her eyes. The sterile smell of medical tape and cotton and ugly hospital sheets filled her senses.

The metallic tang of blood on her lips filled her with revulsion and a morbid sense of life. She was still alive, if she was bleeding. Sam looked as a drop fell on the blankets.

No one could know.

She looked up at Jake, worry and fear and terror in her eyes. She felt it spilling forth.

_Don't tell. Please. Please. Don't tell on me. OhGodpleasepleaseplease._

Jake shot a glance at the nurse who was quickly grabbing items from her cart. The hand that pushed her bangs away from oxygen tubing was soft.

_I'd never._

Sam was ashamed that the most honorable person she knew was forced to lie for her. He wouldn't rat her out. He'd pass off a panic attack as a nightmare.

That had never happened in San Francisco. She had only ever woken up to well meaning nurses. Jake was standing next to her, and even with tears in her eyes and fear in her heart, Sam smiled.

It faded quickly when she saw the nurses. She was going to have to lie well to pull this off. "I'm not...dreaming, am I?"

Jake swallowed. It was a tell, to anyone who knew him well enough.

The nurse closest to her simply said, "No, honey." Sam realized that the white glow was from the light above her bed. Sam gripped the side-railing, unwilling to touch the blood on her lip.

The nurse pressed cotton to it, examining her stitches. "You didn't pull any." She informed Sam, as the slow drips of blood stopped with a bit of pressure. Her lips felt as swollen as the rest of her tearstained face.

Sam coughed, and the injury pulled. Sam's hand wrapped around Jake's, and he pulled slightly, helping her to lean forward, and cough heavily. There was a tired, tired, tired, look in his eyes. She breathed in as her spine rolled forward. The cough racked her body, though nothing came up this time.

Sam was so very sorry that the way he supported her body to help her cough was practiced. She needed the pressure to cough. The nurse went off to grab something from the corner of the room on her cart, though what Sam did not know.

"What..." She breathed, and sat back, against the raised back of the bed. "Did I say this time?"

Sam prayed weakly that it hadn't been anything too damming. She did not want him to know a few things about her time in the hospital. Jake brushed her hair back and passed her some ice.

The pain in her chest grew, somehow, with the coldness in her mouth. "Just that you swore you'd never be here again." Jake's words were matter-of-fact, but he knew what this was.

It was a panic attack. Sam did not need to tell him again that those had been a dime a dozen in the week or so after being pulled out of the coma.

Sam could not bring herself to smile or cry, for it was what it was. She had been proven wrong. She was here again. It was much the same, this time. The nurses still fussed and gossiped like she didn't have ears. The food still sucked, and the pain still hurt.

It was different, too. Here in Darton County, she didn't have a roommate. Well, not officially. This time, she knew that she had a life to get back to, and the certainty filled her with a different kind of worry, one that was more real, more pressing, and less mournful but just as worrisome.

This time, it hadn't been her fault. This time, when she came back from the bathroom, there was somebody there to fluff her blankets, hold her hand, and whisper back in the darkness, that somehow, tomorrow would be better. Her fever would be down, they would take off the meds that made her mind foggy, tomorrow. Yesterday had been tomorrow, too.

"Sam." The nurse, Debbie, said, "We need to turn you some, if you want to move."

Sam didn't want to move. She didn't have the energy. The little air that she could get left her lungs. Debbie pressed her as Sam's eyes slipped shut, "It'll be quick, honey. I know you're tired."

Sam didn't dare say that she didn't have the right to be tired. She did nothing but sleep. Sam gripped the side bar, the one closest to Jake, and turned even before the bed was fully flat.

Her eyes were slipping shut as Jake's hands went to her knees and slipped a pillow that had been folded in half between her knees. Debbie gave her blankets back. Sam felt like she was shaking.

The nurse turned down the overhead, and said, "Good night." It was a joke. Debbie'd be back in two hours. She was very pointedly ignoring the fact that Jake was breaking visitor's hours. It was two in the morning, Sam saw. He stayed when Gram didn't, because she insisted that everyone needed sleep. So sometimes, Gram went home, and Dad went home, and Jake stayed. Dad didn't much stay overnight, not that she blamed him. He thought Gram was coddling her by staying, she guessed. Sam would never admit that she wanted it.

It was different, now.

Gram thought that Jake was being kind to her when he insisted she go home and sleep in her own bed for the night, but no, Jake was including the two of them in that statement. Not that he could sleep much when she was only out with the help of medication and exhaustion in this bed.

No wonder Jake was so tired. He wasn't sleeping. She only knew that he wasn't sleeping because the extra bed in the room that he was unofficially occupying had to be more uncomfortable that hers. She had eggshell padding. He did not, and he slept in his clothes, shucking his boots and tucking them out of the way.

The door shut part way, blocking out the light in the hall. Sam watched her oxygenation for a few long seconds and listened to her IV pump sing its clicking little song. Sam heard Jake push his pillow around. She blinked away tears. Everything hurt, and he could not even hold her, not with the leads and wires and tubes. She had never before felt so very desperate for his embrace. She didn't want the passion she knew they were capable of. She just wanted his drool on her shirt, his arms around her waist. Sam ached for it.

"What day is it?" Her voice was rough. Sam didn't know if it was the illness in her lungs or the tears in her eyes making it so.

Jake answered after a second. He was figuring it out in his head. Time was so distorted. It had nearly driven her around the bend, but it spoke volumes about their life right now. "It's Thursday, Brat."

Sam squeezed her tear filled eyes shut. One endless day had become another. It was different, now. But right now, it was too much of the same.

 

_Let me think, let me think, what can I do?_

_(Remember) Walking in the sand, (Remember) Walking hand in hand_

_(Remember) The night was so exciting, (Remember) Smile was so inviting_

_(Remember) Then he touched my cheek (Remember) With his finger tips_

_(Remember) Softly, softly we'd meet with our lips_

_Remember (Walkin' in the Sand),_ The Shangri-Las

 

It was too cold for words. It was February, so Sam guessed that she shouldn't be surprised. "Sorry Ace." Sam shivered as she quickly curried him, her gloved fingers cold even in the warmth of the barn. The chill was deep in her bones.

Sam stepped easily around Ace and quickly finished. "It's a lick and a promise, baby, but if I don't warm up soon, I think you're liable to end up with a popsicle in your stall."

Ace nibbled at her, silly thing that he was. Sam's laugh turned into a cough that she fumbled desperately to hide in her sleeve. It stole her breath. She could not hide the cough this time. Not again, she prayed, please not again. She knew better than to think God would halt biology, but she had hope.

Last night, Jake had been looking at her with a funny, deeply wary expression in his eyes. She wasn't going to do this to him again. She needed to be well, not for her won sake, but for his. She swore she'd never put him through something again, and Sam could feel something that was sicksicksickwrongillsick deep in her body, deep in her bones. She had felt this way for days, a nagging thought, an odd shortness of breath, a terrible headache.

She smiled. "I wouldn't taste good! You're not a carnivore." Sam kissed his velvety nose, and relished the warmth of the air that puffed from his nostrils. "Love you." She picked up the brushes she set aside, and left the stall that had been modified just for her over the last few months.

Sam pulled her beanie down tighter over her head, the red knit fabric pushing out curls that were finally becoming waves. She was going to look like a puffball, but she didn't care. It was so very cold.

"Sam!" Dad called. Sam forced herself not to bristle at being called for like an errant pet.

Things were tense yet, between them, but they seemed to have found some footing in just not talking about the things that they knew would set each other off. It was working for now. The ranch was running well, and Dad seemed happy enough. Sam wasn't going to question it, even if he was a bit of an ass about it.

"Coming." She said. Her voice sounded rough, and she resolved not to call attention to her cold. She stuffed her left hand in her pocket as she pushed herself halfheartedly with her right hand.

Of course, the unequal propulsion threw her off, but she got to where he and Jake and Pepper and Ross were blathering on about something to do with something or other. She slowed to a stop without much control.

There was words, words, so many words. Sam couldn't keep up with the blending, as quickly as she normally could, and it was annoying.

She was annoyed with the fact that her mind could not keep up with her life in this moment. There was so much to do in the office, so much to do with school, so much to do with Jen. Their words rolled around in her head until the cacophony of sound made her eyes want to close.

Sam tilted her head into Jake's side. Nobody could blame her for it, the man was a furnace.

As words swirled around her, Jake's hand came to rest on her shoulder. It was reflexive, unconscious. His touch was light, but it filled an empty space that he left behind when he wasn't around. He had been all morning at the lab, working on his stuff for school. Sam did not really understand much about his experiments, or whatever the heck he was doing there, but she did like it when he came back.

A cough shook her body on her next inhalation.

Within seconds, his hand was supporting her back. When she stopped coughing, Jake's hand then was cupping the back of her neck gently. His pronouncement roused her from trying to pant for air, "You have a fever."

His hand fell away from her body, and she missed it. "Do not." She sat up, yanking on the arm of her chair to shift her weight. Her body ached.

Sam ignored the thought that she was weaker than she wanted to be. So what? She was tired. She'd been out with the horses a lot this week. She'd gone out with Jen, played in the snow with Quinn. She had really lived, and it had felt like freedom. Freedom and a life worth living. 

Sam put her hands down on her armrests and pushed up, lifting her bottom from the seat just enough to move her spine and shift her weight again. Her spine felt so much better.

She knew her eyes were wide. She'd beg him to believe her if she could, just so that she help him not to worry. She could handle this. She wasn't going to worry anybody. It didn't matter how worried she was inside, it didn't help to show it. "It's just cold."

Jake looked at her steadily, doubting her with a single glance.

Dad was looking at her, too. They spoke to each other about light things, the ranches, the weather. They were busy men, but they no longer had as much to say to each other anymore. The silence sometimes hurt more than the anger, but they somehow always found the time to hassle her about her health. Usually, Jake's methods were entirely different, and she found that she did not like it when they converged.

"You do look a bit peaky, Sammy." Dallas said, "We can talk about things later. It's nothing that can't hold."

Sam wanted to disagree, but Jake's expression said it all. It burned into her.  He dared her to contradict him in front of her father. A shiver started within her as Dallas and Pepper and Ross all lit out for parts unknown, leaving her to make her point well and truly clear to Jake, who was filling the space around her with his worry and his care. He saw the flush she could not exactly hide, because he saw everything, though he ignored it, or more precisely, he ignored its meaning.

Sam wasn't about to tell him anything he didn't need to know, and at the moment, her shortness of breath had nothing to do with her lungs.

"You weren't this sick this morning." Jake murmured, staring at her like she was the center of the universe, and he'd looked away for a tiny second and missed a supernova. It went to a girl's, Sam thought, that kind of study and care, that kind of focus and intent.

She had felt crappy for the last while, but she hadn't said so. She had been working hard at school, and it was no surprise she didn't feel well. Who didn't feel a bit off in the winter? Only sick freaks like Jake liked the winter. Winter was only acceptable as viewed from the back of a horse.

"I'm not sick now." Sam returned, trying to use humor to her advantage. She didn't feel well, but Mr. I-Know-All could shove it. "We have this conversation every time I sneeze."

She knew, because she had once taken to fake sneezing one Saturday, just to tick him off. It had been great fun. "Go find a patient or something." He was more at ease in his chosen profession, but he was still so excited about it that he was annoying. He saw sniffles and the chicken pox everywhere now that he knew what to look for. Sam couldn't wait until he was 55, and burnt-out, just a tiny bit.

She planned to be a total snowbird. Florida, or SoCal, or something, somewhere Jake would sigh about the old people even when he was one. She would ride Ace down the beach, and sigh that 60 degrees was far, far, too cold. She was going to be a fantastic old lady.

Jake took in her sweater. Sam had picked it because it was comfortable, cozy, and it didn't make her bones ache and her skin crawl like everything else she'd tried on this morning. She'd had piles of shirts on the floor until she found one that wasn't an affront to her senses and a blight unto humanity.

"Maybe if you wore a coat more often..." Jake suggested, not taking his hands off of her as she gave in and stood. He pulled gently, and Sam shifted to her feet with the extra support. If he wanted to act a fool, the least he could do was hold her while he did it.

It was freezing in here. Sam leaned into Jake, putting her head on his chest. Jake's hand went from her elbow to her back unconsciously. Sam was so tired, but this, this she needed.

"Please call the doctor, Sam." Dad decreed, clearly intending to break into the moment. Sam rolled her eyes, and knew Jake felt the the flutter of her eyelashes. He didn't push her away, and she had no intention of moving. 

She knew that there was no 'please' about it, and Sam saw Dad as he pushed the chair back, out of the way, and glanced at Jake, as she found her footing.

Dad walked away, then, towards Dallas' voice. Sam still didn't know what they wanted, and darn it, she wanted to know. She knew she could ask, and she would, later. 

And anyway, Jake knew very well that the seams on her jackets bothered her, not to mention the sensation she got when she moved her arms around in one were annoying and frustrating. The sleeves of her shirt always stuck to the coat and bunched. The bunches and the pulling sensation and the shifting of the fabric got in the way of functioning.

Sam shook her head, willing herself to find words that weren't obvious. "Aren't you sick of checking for runny noses and fevers?"

It was a valid question that Jake did not answer. There was a slow smile on his face, one that was tempered by the musing tone of his voice."You know, I can't decide if I like you when you're sick or not."

"Why?" Sam asked carefully, as Jake tramped over the carefully maintained path from the barn to the door.

She had learned quickly that traction and moving carefully were the only thing standing between her and a faceplant in the snow. She'd done it a few times, until she'd given up and gotten a handful of zip ties and made her own snow ties with the wheels, the zip ties, and her knife.

Jake liked to spend money on equipment, but not her. The bruise on her shin and fixing the slight dent in the wheelchair had cost plenty, because King of the Idiots insisted on a doctor to look at a bruise he didn't think was healing fast enough, and Dad had insisted on getting the wheelchair guy to come fix the dented footplate.

"Because you're cuddly, but you're snippy." He looked down at her, "It's a bit like being in a relationship with a hedgehog."

Sam spluttered. She couldn't think of a comeback.

Jake grinned triumphantly, as Sam grabbed the banister to haul herself up the steps.

Jake wasn't distracted, though, and she soon found herself sitting on her couch, with Jake trying to stick a thermometer in her mouth. Sam was thinking quickly about how she was going to hide the fact that she did have a fever. She'd checked not two hours ago, and it had been 100.7. She hadn't needed to medicate it though, because medicating it would require that she let on that she was sick, even to herself. Sometimes body temperatures fluctuated.

Sam began when the thing started beeping and Jake pulled it away before she could grab it and blow cold air on it. She wanted to kick him. She was too tired, though. "It's nearly March! Everyone's got..." she grabbed the thermometer out of his hand, "a fever of 102.7..." Sam trailed off. Two degrees in two hours.

Jake looked concerned. Sam redoubled her efforts as he reached into their bag of tricks, which, sadly, were not fun things, but were rather a collection of medications stored in a hatbox with horses on it that Sam had bought years ago and never used. Everything in it was cared for and organized to a fault. She had outgrown the cosmetics bag some time ago, not because she was sicker, but because she was healing.Who knew that would ever be the case?

Sam moved two bottles over to the left and tilted her spacer over for the inhaler that her own personal set of polytraumas required. Jake fixed them with a soft glare, and put them back next to the inhaler box. She liked messing with his systems.

She needed time to think.

Jake found what he was looking for, prescription straight something or other. Sam moved to swipe the bottle, but Jake held it out of reach. "Headache?" Jake asked, placing his fingers along her neck. Sam shivered at the warmth of his hands on her again.

"Aren't you going to assess for my comfort?" Sam teased, avoiding the question. If he was going to play at doctor, at least he should do it correctly. "And wash your hands before you touch me?"

He had already done it, she knew, while she was sitting here, miserable, with the thermometer in her mouth. "Put your chin on your chest." Jake instructed, and Sam complied. She figured it was easier to do as he asked rather than quibble about it, when there was that note in his voice. She was tired, though she knew she would make good on his lack of a please later.

"Are you at all confused?" Jake asked very seriously.

Sam blinked at him. He was sitting there, so comfortable, and cozy, and warm. Before she could get lost in her thoughts, he prompted her again, "Sam?"

Sam recalled the question and frowned, "Don't you think if I were, then I wouldn't be able to answer that? Ask a concrete, specific question next time." Jake seemed to file that lesson away for future reference. Like he was the only one who knew how to read those books he left lying around. She tried, anyway, even though a page took her an hour, and she understood about 1/5 of it until she could say it out loud, and the things he told her about his observations with Dr. Haskins did stay in her mind.

Sam blinked owlishly when Jake stared at her. He was looking at her like she was a bug with its wings pulled clean off. "I'm fine. My throat hurts a bit, my body hurts, and I'm freezing. All I need is a popsicle, and some sleep." She also wanted him in her bed, but that went without saying.

"You're sure there's nothing else?" Jake pulled her closer, and put his head on her chest, pressing his ear directly over her heart.

Idiot just wanted to cop a feel. Stupid. Sam let her hand flutter to his hair. Stupid, she thought, with bemused affection. He hardly needed a pretext for _that_.

After a moment, he lifted his eyes and looked at her carefully, "Any rashes or anything?"

"Jake! You can't just ask me if I have rashes!" Sam was not really outraged. She was glad to avoid telling him that she felt something more coming on, simply because she did not wish to borrow trouble or be dramatic. "It's not an infection, it's not anything but a cold, which you're going to get if you don't back up."

He wouldn't be able to work on his labs, do his schoolwork, or follow Haskins around if he were sick. He would sit here and whine at her about the awfulness of his headache by not speaking, and refusing to be reasonable about treating it.

She could not handle a sick Jake. He'd had a head cold a few months back, and it had been hell. She didn't like to see him in pain and she did not deal with his silence, or the worry, well. What would they do if something happened to him? She sometimes wondered how she would take care of them both like he had taken care of her. It made her feel bad to know that she could never be there for him in the way that he had been there for her.

"I think it's too late to worry about exposure." Jake was satisfied with his armchair diagnosis.

Sam did not see his point. She arched a brow as she leaned back against the sofa. He leaned into her and whispered, "I didn't ask you if you had rashes because I thought you did. I wanted to gauge how crappy you're feeling."

"And?" Sam was interested in his assumptions, though crappy was not a term she'd hoped he'd apply clinically. She felt like cotton batting had been stuffed in her mouth. She felt pretty crappy, and wasn't sure what a question about rashes would tell him.

Jake smirked, and passed her the medication. "Well, if you were healthy or anything less than outright sick, you would have offered to prove that you don't have any rashes."

Sam stuck out her tongue at him.

Jake arched an eyebrow.

Sam reached for the water, popped the pills, and swigged the water back quickly.

"Everything hurts." Sam decided, looking at Jake through half-closed eyes. She reached over the back of the couch and found the blanket she kept there. Jake tucked it, but not too much. It wasn't heavy enough. Her joints felt all rubbery and floaty, like her body needed to be pressed back into its mold. He needed to provide pressure. Her eyes shut.

She could not get warm. Sam thought warm thoughts, confident that she wasn't going to be alone long. The dog hopped up on the sofa, and curled around her stomach. Blaise wasn't the company she'd anticipated, but there would be room for everyone when Jake showed up.

The cat seemed to agree as he sprawled along the back of the sofa, his tail flicking.

Sam's eyes popped open when she realized that Jake wasn't right there. "Jake?" There was no reply. The dog scrambled down.

Sam tried again, "Jake?" Annoyed, Sam swung her feet off of the couch and pushed herself up to sitting. The dog hopped along with her she walked to the kitchen. No Jake. "Where is he, Bee?"

The dog took no offense to the nickname, but Sam wasn't sure if he was only hiding annoyance behind a placid expression because he did not lead her to Jake. She was running out of places to check.

A light sheen of sweat had popped up on her skin, leaving a cold, clammy feeling in its wake. She grabbed the counter as a wave of dizziness spun through her, almost as though her blood was dropping to her toes. She slumped, letting her head rest against the cupboards.

Water, she determined. Water. Water would clear her head.

Sam thought about moving, shuffling to the sink, but before she could move her head and get there, she heard a voice.

"You were sleeping." Sam turned slowly around. Jake had showered, and changed.

She had not thought to look upstairs. She would have sat in the bathroom. The steam would have been warm, and she was terribly cold.

"You left." Sam said simply as she traipsed toward the stairs.

Jake looped an arm around her as they slowly made their way up the steps. She felt so sluggish. "A contagious kid came in today." Jake said, as they walked down the hall. "Unless you feel like a stomach bug on top of your flu..."

"I'm considering it." Sam's stomach was tight with fatigue as she flopped onto the bed. "Wake me up in time for dinner. I won't eat, but I refuse to watch late night TV." And with that, Sam was out. She slept for the better part of three days.

 _Oh, Sally Jane, oh, Sally Jane_  
_Though I'd love to stay forever, this is why I can't remain_

_I got spurs that jingle, jangle, jingle_

_As I go ridin' merrily along_  
_And they sing, 'Oh ain't you glad you're single'_  
_And that song ain't so very far from wrong_

 _(I Got Spurs) Jingle Jangle Jingle_ , The Merry Macs

Jake was worried, terrified. She had been so healthy for months, and now this bout with the flu was pulling her down. He tried to think about how so many wonderful days could lead up to this moment. Sam shivered, and Grace had fear in her eyes.

The doctors said to ride it out. Jake thought that this was getting worse, but Sam refused to see reason. He often found himself praying she would sleep deeply enough that it legally could be conflated with a blackout, so he could easily say she wasn't with it, and do what he needed to do to get her better.

After he extracted himself from Sam's embrace, he went downstairs, and picked up the phone. Grace was at bingo, and Wyatt was with Brynna. There were alone in the house, save for the cat and the dog.

Jake glanced at the clock after he took in the contents of the fridge critically. They weren't ready for this. There was no ensure in the house, no popsicles, no strawberry juice, no lemonade. He glanced at the cupboards, opening and shutting them softly. They needed at least a box of pedialyte and at least two cans of vegetable broth. Grace had chicken and beef, but no vegetable broth, something of an issue for her selectively quasi-vegetarian granddaughter.

He dialed quickly. "Quinn." He spoke when his brother picked up his cell phone. "Where are you?"

"What do you mean?" Quinn replied, and Jake heard the roar of engines. He was at the track, then, with his buddies. Jake didn't know how his brother could put up with their asshattery. Then again, Quinn was something of a speed-deamon. "Man, it's Tuesday."

Jake sighed, ran his fingers through his hair. Sam's fever was rising. He'd lied to her earlier. She'd been sickish for a few days. He'd made the mistake of writing it off. But he hadn't wanted to worry her with his own projections of his fears. Ayers had long cautioned him on managing his fears in ways that didn't obliterate their relationship. Saying "I think you might be getting sick…" more than once crossed boundaries and had the potential to cause issues.  He knew when things were only in his head.

He was worried now. Her breathing was labored. Jake swore he could hear her, even in the kitchen. "Nevermind. We'll see you later."

Quinn paused. "Jake. What's wrong?" Jake heard him say something to someone else, something that sounded like "Shut up, shut up. I'm talking."

Jake figured he had nothing to lose with honesty. He couldn't leave to go to the store, but push come to shove, he'd call Grace and hope she'd taken her cell phone. He hadn't wanted to burden Grace needlessly, though. She got so worried when someone called her cell phone. "I need somebody to grab some stuff from the store."

"You called me." Quinn repeated, "During my racing time, to…"

"I don't have time for your posturing. We all know you have a social life Quinn." Jake snapped. He sobered, unwilling to rip into his brother. "I need you to go to the grocery and pick up popsicles, strawberry V-8, the green apple pedialyte, and two packs of Ensure."

Quinn breathed out, "Anything else?"

"Yeah." Jake knew the second that he brought up Sam Quinn would understand. It didn't take a genius, even though Quinn was one, certifiably on paper, to figure out that the groceries were for Sam. "Just bring it by on your home. I'll be up."

"Just text me." Quinn encouraged him.

Jake ended the conversation and sat down at the table, wishing that this hadn't shocked him so, no matter what he had known or didn't know.

He hadn't seen this coming.

Winter had come upon them slowly, fall giving one last fight before the first snow fell. It was a slow autumn, perfect for riding. Sam made the most of it, spending every second she could in the saddle. The day she sat alone in the saddle, and kept her seat was another breakthrough.

Improvement. Breakthroughs. Growth. They just kept coming after that, faster and faster and faster still. Jake liked to think that no one would know how far she had come if they looked at her now. She was careening towards an independence that was hard won, and Jake was glad to be along with her, every step of the way.

Sam grew in confidence, and her body slowly remembered the things her soul would never forget. Penny helped with that. Kitty's expertise slowly allowed Sam to add in rides with Ace. It made Jake more nervous than her cared to admit. They'd trained Ace together, but he knew that a horse's training could fail. Kitty, in some ways, was a mythical mother horse to them both, who knew more than they ever would, and there was some kind of intrinsic trust there that calmed him at times. Ace, though, was Sam's baby, and every time he gave her lip, something in Jake froze until he saw Sam handle it with grace and intuition.

In fact, he thought she was a stronger rider now, better than she had ever been before. Rather than going solely on instinct and a general bone deep knowing, Sam backed up and relearned everything, made modifications that made sense to her.

She now understood riding in new ways, ways that were as physical and mental even as they played upon the instinctual knowing she had developed over the years. Jake smiled, and tried to think about the fall, without this moment tinting what he knew.

"I hate this helmet." Sam snapped over at him, reaching under it carefully to pull at her hair. It was slowly growing upwards even as it grew longer. She said she looked like a brown haired Annie, but Jake did not have the heart to tell her that her hair was growing back in with more of a red tint.

Jake did not reply. He thought it was a perfectly nice gift. She liked brown, and it was brown. It had a removable visor, and it was a darn nice helmet. And anyway, he wasn't having this stupid discussion again. She was not getting into the saddle alone without a helmet. It was not happening and she could whine and wheedle until she was 85, but she was going to wear a helmet.

They'd been too blasé, before, too trusting, too at ease."Sam."

"I'm just saying, okay?" Sam returned, as Kitty moved through a ditch. Sam's balance had improved and she kept her seat more firmly. Jake noticed that fear did not come into her eyes the sort of fear that came from her body and not her mind or her heart.

"Say something else." She had a million things to say to Kitty, she could figure out something to say to him. Jake looked around, at the slowly muting browns of the desert as fall took hold on the land. It was really beautiful out here. It would be even nicer if he didn't have to rehash a conversation for the 67th time this month alone.

"Your birthday present is going to stink. It's going to be awful." Sam reminded him as she had for weeks, since he'd presented her with the box and a hopeful expression, checking the fit like a mother hen.

It wasn't going to suck. Jake knew better. Gift giving, for Sam, allowed her to express things she rarely said, and she put a lot of thought into buying and making presents for people. It wouldn't sit well with her heart if she gave him a present she didn't think was ideal, because it was a point of pride and it said things her words never could. "Uh-huh."

Kitty was not amused by their bickering. She picked up her hooves with a gentle disapproval, and let out a puff of air that said it all. It was all her nevermind, though, as long as Santa pulled through for the old gal on Christmas Day. Sam took Kitty's advice, when she touched the helmet, and admitted, "At least it's not pink."

 _You have to learn to pace yourself_  
_Pressure_  
_You're just like everybody else_  
_Pressure_  
_You've only had to run so far_  
_So good_  
_But you will come to a place_  
_Where the only thing you feel are loaded guns in your face_  
_And you'll have to deal with pressure_  
_You used to call me paranoid_  
_Pressure_  
_But even you can not avoid pressure_  
_Pressure_ , Billy Joel

Sam woke up slowly, panic swelling inside of her at the first moment of semi-conciouness. Something was desperately wrong in her body. It felt like every bit of her blood was spinning. There was a tightness in her body that spoke of vomit, of massive abdominal pain. Her head was spinning against the stack of pillows that propped her up.

She had such a cough, such a cough, that made it only possible to sleep while basically sitting up.

She needed to get to the bathroom. The whirring in her mind, the sickness in her veins, spoke to vomit, and prodigious quantities of it. Sam had the urge to just get there as fast as possible, without question or reason.

She didn't trust herself to speak. She knew she couldn't reach out and grab blindly at Jake. Her arms wouldn't do as she asked.

She had to get up. It was a desperate urge borne of self-preservation. The room was dark, but the light that spilled from the hallway nightlight through her wide open door made her eyes ache. Sam sat up, clawing at the side of the bed, pulling with every bit of her diminishing might to sit up.

The sheet popped free from the corner of the bed.

Sam pushed to standing, yanking the top sheet as she did so. The room tilted and her legs gave out. She sat down, hard. Nausea welled.

It was a span of a few seconds that felt like decades as her bottom met the mattress.

The dog woke. Sam wanted to drown out the clicking of his tags as he moved towards her. Jake didn't want the dog in the bed. He said she spoiled the dog, but that he had been traipsing in the dirt, and he wasn't about to do as she'd said and give the dog a bath just so Blaise could steal his half of the bed.

The pounding in her head increased, and Sam lost touch of where her feet were. Sam realized that she was sweating so badly that sweat was coating her thin nightdress. It was a stinky, painful sweat, the kind that made her hair stick to her head.

Sam knew suddenly that she was going to vomit. That green apple crap Gram kept throwing at her was going to coat her floor. She needed the bathroom, the cool tile. It was imperative, beyond conscious choice, or rationality.

She stood up, and knew that she was going to get there. Except. Sam realized that she could not get her leg to move. She could not move. If she stepped, she was going to fall. Her balance was poor in the best of moments, and nearly nonexistent now.

She felt like she was on stilts, with one tiny step feeling like the biggest step she had ever taken. She felt like she would never cross the room. The shapes that danced on the edge of her vision were mocking her, never seeming quite solid as she tried to get a sense of where she was.

Her legs felt like lead, and her spine felt like jelly. Sam gripped the doorjamb, and panted heavily. She had five steps to the bathroom. Five. Stupid. Fuck. Five.

She could do this.

Her left foot was so heavy. Her knee didn't seem to want to bend and she had no earthly idea how to make it comply with her wishes. Her vision was grey.

Her head was spinning. She didn't know where to put her arms. She had no idea where her feet were. Her heart was pounding. The blood rushing in her ears overwhelmed her, made her want to scream, scream until it stopped.

Her right foot was not going to move. She was standing in the doorway to her room, by clawing at the doorjamb for support and hauling her right foot along in a dragging motion.

She grabbed the doorknob for the partially-closed door next to her, needing the support. She had four more steps.

Sam couldn't hear anything. The rushing in her ears made her feel as though she was sea, and her lack of bodily awareness and control compounded that fact. No, no, it wasn't the sea. The sea, even in storms, had a sense of utter calmness, utter control, utter mastery. She felt like the wind was ripping through the Sierra Nevadas, inside of her. She could not separate the haunting terror of the wind with the bone-chilling dread that came from being unable to tell, in the dark of the night, if it was the wind or the howl of a coyote because her mind was fucking with her.

She was filled with relief when her vision clouded at the edges and she slumped backwards, her hand wrenching as she fell, pulling the doorknob with every bit of her weight, even as it slipped from her sweaty grasp.

It slammed shut as the room spun around her. Her vision was mere pinpricks, and the roaring in her ears dulled every sound, but she was fully aware of the hard floor against her back, fully aware of the dog nudging at her.

How she had fallen was a mystery. But she had, her legs simply folding inward. Sam pulled her eyes shut. She knew now that she was going to pass out.

The roaring in her ears overwhelmed her every sense as the slam of the door echoed in her mind. And then, and then, the roaring swallowed her whole.

She had no idea how long had passed.

All she knew, though, was a hand pressing at her face, "Sam!"

"Shhh!" She all but wailed, "Shhhh!" Why Gram had to scream at her was unknown to her. It wasn't right, and it wasn't fair. The room was spinning, even with her eyes shut.

Sam tired to breathe, the hardness of the floor seemingly pushing her lungs forward, pressing without mercy into the hardness of her spine, the ridges of her hips. It hurt.

Still, she knew she had no intention of ever moving as the room spun around her. This was utterly ridiculous. Gram was hollering for Dad, for Jake, and it was all Sam could do not to scream at her to shut up.

There didn't need to be fuss. She felt so much better than she had when she'd stood up in her room.

As it was, she sucked in air that made her sicker to her stomach. Voices swirled around her. Dad said, "She's passed out. I don't..."

"No." Jake asserted, crowding the dog away from her, "Sam. Open your eyes."

"No." Sam said, "I…the room's spinning. I need…" She breathed out, "sweaty."

Sam heard the water in the bathroom rattle on, then, and then there was a cold rag on her face. It was immediately clarifying, a lodestone for her focus. Sam lost track of the conversation swirling around her until she heard Dad say, "Do we call…"

"No!" Sam said, panic rising in her mind that gave her the energy to move, trying to pull her feet up to plant them on the floor. "I won't! I just got tired." It seemed perfectly sound to her, but nobody seemed to buy it.

Sam put her palms flat, dragging her limbs to do as she wanted. She brushed against Gram's bare foot, and the older woman stepped back in the small hallway. "Sammy…"

Jake, being that he was more attuned to how she functioned, was able to help her sit up, bracing her back with his side, so that she could lean against him. Sam was so utterly spent, so utterly washed out. "I had to get up, my legs gave out. It happens."

Her spine felt like jelly against him, and Sam had no compunction about curling in on herself.

"It used to happen." Jake confirmed to Gram and Dad, "But…" _This wasn't that._

He did not need to blab. Sam squeezed his arm gently.

Sam shook her head, regretting the action. She felt so weak. "I'm sick. This is just the TBI being an asshole." She looked down at her toes, and felt the start of rug burn on the sensitive appendages. "Like. Like. _Stupid_."

Sam tried to push herself up, before anyone knew what she was about, and she landed on her bottom, hard, after pushing up only as far as her jellied arms would lift her.

Jake caught her eyes. _Stop. Just breathe. You're okay, I promise._

Sam sucked in a breath, wishing it would give her clarity and energy. She knew that he was only trying to help her. Better that no one else saw her struggle. Better that they all think she was okay.

"Sam." Gram said, "You look terrible. Are you sure you can get up?"

"Yes." Sam snapped over the dull roaring in her ears, that was thankfully slipping back into nothingness, "Why?" Wasn't she in the process of doing that? Dad pulled her up, and Jake steadied her, and then, she was on her feet, in a dizzying flurry of motion that left her stepping forward in a stagger before she could orient herself by pressing all of her weight onto Jake for support.

"You don't seem quite right, honey, cognitively." Gram said, "You're…not rational."

Sam blinked, offended. "What?"

"Sam." Jake said, looking at her directly. "Wyatt asked you if you wanted juice."

Sam shook her head. "I want to sleep. I'll feel better when I sleep." She said, "And would you guys stop screaming? My head is pounding, but I don't need you to raise your voices."

Gram looked worried as Sam declared, "I'm going to the bathroom now."

Dad went away, and Sam let go of Jake,who stepped away just after Gram said she wouldn't let her fall. He didn't leave until Sam was in the bathroom. Gram all but shut the door in his face.

In the meantime, she staggered into the bathroom, fumbling around before Gram got the door shut. In the tiny bathroom, Sam felt a bit more level. She was shaking as she ripped off toilet paper.

Gram put a light hand on her shoulder as she stood up. "How can I make this better?"

Sam didn't think about her response. Her bruised feeling toes skated along the floor as she leaned forward to stand up. "I'm fine. There's nothing to make better. I'm fine, and I don't want to hear otherwise."

The door opened, softly, as Gram sighed. "We'll get you back to bed."

Sam didn't relish the thought of all that work. Her body felt disjointed. Her sheets were no doubt covered in sweat, and rumpled from being pulled off in the corner, but at this point, she was so tired that she would have slept in the barn.

Sam sat down on a bed with changed sheets, changed her nightdress, and was trying to breathe when her father entered. "Sam. I really think…"

She knew her body. She had her to say, flatly, "Look. I'm still conscious. I will swear on a stack of Bibles that I never lost consciousness. Therefore, I am able to make my own medical decisions. And altered mental statues fall under mental health, which I've had control over since I was 14."

Dad pressed the cold glass into her hands, and took it back when her hands started to shake with the weight in her grasp. "That's not at all how this works. If you're not able to come to terms with the fact that you need medical care, then there are people who will help you do it, or do it for you."

"You're being dramatic." Sam replied, "I fell." That was a bit of revisionist history, as Sam was certain that it was more like the floor had risen up to meet her, but it was finely put.

 _Do it for her_ , Sam thought, a tendril of fear uncurling inside of her as it began to whisper awful things, awful things that she did not know how to decry.

Dad pressed the juice at her. "I can't make her see sense." He glanced at Jake, and then back at Sam, "You're going back to the hospital, Sam, you can't not go."

"The sensible thing would be to go back to bed." Sam replied, fighting for her control. No stupid thoughts were going to give him more of a reason to take her there. "We'll talk in the morning."

She was not going to scream at her father about what she could and could not do. 

Dad looked uncertain.

Fear was building inside of her at the thought of going back there, of him making her go, of not being able to say that she didn't want to be there. She didn't want to go and she knew that if she went back there that it would be terrible.

She could barely breathe past the thought. The hospital walls closing in on her as she was alone, with no one to hear her cry, but being equally terrified that someone would hear her sob.

It had been so long since this had happened, Sam thought rapidly, as she realized that she was starting off with a panic attack. This is how the started, with a whisper. Sam knew what this was.

She hated the ones she felt building, because she always felt worse that she could not make them stop.

"Please." Sam admitted the truth. "I don't think I could deal with so much as moving from this room. I just need to rest. If you think that I'm still not right in a half hour, I'll do whatever, but please, please, you have to let me sleep, I can't, I can't, you don't understand, I couldn't, please, please, _please_ , you don't, you don't, you _don't_ …"

Sam cleared her throat, with a choking rattle. Her mouth was dry. She took the juice. She was losing what little control she had over her thoughts. A cough rattled her.

She didn't want to go back there, in a rush of energy, in a flurry of fear, pure adrenaline. If she went back, which she was not going to, it would be on her own terms. The fear rising in her mind was unbearable.

The sweat was beading again, but this was a different kind of sweat, a kind of fear she knew well. She felt like she was going to die, going to die, because he was going to make her go back there and there was nothing she could do to stop it, make him see sense, and then she would be back there, and she couldn't do it again, she knew she couldn't. She had done it once, but the idea of being there, powerless, out-of-control, was making her sick. She couldn't go back there, not when she couldn't think right, not when she wasn't ready, she wasn't ready, and she couldn't go.

"Sam." Jake broke back in, warm eyes and soft movements, "Nobody is going to do anything without your consent. Nobody is going to force you to go back to the hospital. I need you to tell me right now what you need."

Sam knew very little, in this moment. But, but, she knew she could trust the conviction in Jake's voice, the utter certainty she could find in his words, if not her own mind. She paused, knowing in her heart of hearts, that if she could not believe everything she thought, like Ella said, that she could trust Jake's words. He did not give his word without actually meaning it.

She blinked, pulled something out by its roots deep inside of her. "I'm okay." Sam said, "I swear it."

Dad thought her words were for him. "Sam, you need…"

Her father read something in the way she gripped the cold glass. The cold seeped into her hand, was something to focus upon.

Jake knew better though. They weren't talking about what had just happened in the hallway. They were talking about the fact that Sam was pushing away a panic attack with as much air as she could.

She knew, logically, that she wasn't going to die at the hospital. It wasn't about dying. It was about being alone, feeling unsafe. She knew that. She knew that. She had to trust herself. She was handling this. She was not letting this happen.

She was in control. She had bodily autonomy, both internally and externally, and she needed to hold onto that. She knew what this was, and she knew how to breathe. She could do this.

Sam moved, trying to haul her body onto the bed, so that she could allow herself to shake, allow herself to feel secure in a defined space. She couldn't do it. She couldn't get her limbs to listen, without a cough ripping her inside and out. She knew that if she got into bed, that Dad would just let her sleep.

It hurt. Everything hurt.

Jake slid his palm under her knees, palm up, and helped her to rotate. Sam hadn't even realized that she'd sat exactly where she'd needed to, to do this, without much thought. "Thanks."

Sam flopped against the pillows that were piled behind her, and let the soft top sheet float down on her. Her heart was pounding, but shifting away from the bright light in the hall made her feel a bit more in control of herself.

Sam felt the rabbiting of her heart slow, when Jake shook his head softly, "Wyatt, just give her a bit."

"Look at her, Jake, something is wrong, and you're wanting to just let her stay here?" Dad was misreading what was happening in her body as anyone might. The dull roaring in her ears had been pushed back by the surge of adrenaline, but the rabbiting of her heart thumped her spine, or so it seemed, shook her chest.

"Nothing's wrong with letting her choose to take her meds, and get some rest so that she has time to make her choice." Jake's voice was gentle, but Sam felt the steel in it, felt it in the way his eyebrow rose in that way, in that way that just begged someone to challenge him as he moved down to the foot of the bed and carefully unfolded the blanket.

When he realized she was looking, his expression shifted. His glance at her was soft, and understanding. In a second, Sam's heart broke.

Sam knew that he would go to the wall on this, because he had made her a promise he could not keep. He had promised her that no one would push her into going to the hospital. But. But. He really couldn't make that promise.

Sam coughed, "Dad. Please. Please go get the Motrin, and whatever. I just…I can't right now. We've done this…this before. If I need to go, I'll tell you." She looked at Jake quickly from where he stood by the desk, "Tell him. Tell him I went when I had to go, when my lungs were filling up, and I had to go, and I did, and I didn't even worry because I knew I had to go and I did, and it's the same, the…"

Dad sighed, "I won't push you now, Sam." Dad allowed. "That cough is terrible, though, and I want your word that the second you wake up in the morning that you will call the doctor and do exactly what he says."

Sam nodded, even as her eyes slipped shut. Within twenty minutes, the medications Gram had brought up kicked in, and Sam spent the next few hours in a funny state of drugged sleep that felt like wakefulness.

  

_And her bed is under her window, and her fingers brush over your chest._

_With your heart beating fast you go real slow, and you match the rhythm of her breath._

_And if all your dreams come true, do your memories still end up haunting you?_

_Is there such a thing as really breaking through, to another day and a brighter shade of blue?_

_She Don't Like Roses,_ Christine Kane

 

Grace pulled the blinds when Sam hissed at the light, for the fifth time today. It wasn't even noon. "You need to go to the doctor, Sam. You no longer have a choice."

Sam pulled the blanket up higher, and drew her feet up to her body, curling around Cougar to ground herself.

Blaise hopped up on the couch, cuddling around her feet, looking at Jake like he was evil incarnate for getting in the way between Blaise and his mistress.

Jake did the smart thing and gave the dog some room. He sighed, and Sam patted the dog's furry head, with shaking fingers. "Francis and his minion said that a cold is a cold is a cold." Sam couldn't take cold medications because of the fact that they might increase the symptoms of her TBI. "The pediatrician agreed, said to push fluids and rest. I'm resting."

Jake knew that she was telling the truth. However, he had a dark feeling that things had tumbled downhill quickly. They'd passed off her falling as syncope because of hunger, dehydration, and her blood pressure as she stood quickly. Jake wasn't so sure.

Grace got another blanket, and put it over the back of the couch.

Jake felt a wave of helplessness. Sam was wearing her cat lady nightgown, and looked awful, much like she had when he had gone to San Francisco. She wasn't eating much, she couldn't, and she slept all of the time.

She was sicker than she was letting on. He could see it in her eyes, feel it in his soul. She was trying to take care of them in the only way she could.

"Jake..." Sam didn't bother moving from her position, not that he wanted her to do it. "I'm going to throw up." There was a desperation in her voice that compelled him to help her sit up, displacing the dog and the cat and the blankets, and keep her steady as she threw up everything she'd worked so hard to get into her system today.

Jake pulled it away, letting Sam fall backwards onto the pillows, yanking the covers up because she was so cold that her teeth chattered.

Grace grimaced, and Jake heard her opening some soda, that Sam, of course, would either refuse, or drink and throw up again. It was the headache making her so sick to her stomach. The TBI and whatever else was going on were fast friends, playing off each other, making the symptoms of both somehow worse.

Jake knew he was adding to it, when he spoke, "That's third time..." He tried to be gentle. How could he not be gentle, when she was so sick? She was so sick.

He wanted to put his foot down, wanted to push his will upon this whole thing. He wanted to take care of her, wanted her stubborn desire to help others to stop getting in the way of what she needed. Jake's jaw tightened, and he blew out a breath to calm the tensity of his body.

Jake knew she was dehydrated, and that her output was getting too low. Sam pushed the basin away when he offered it again, and wiped her mouth with her sleeve, "I know." Thankfully, her gums didn't start to bleed this time.

Grace said something Jake didn't hear as she helped Sam to rinse her mouth. "Look, I know it looks bad, but it's a cold." Her breathing was labored.

Jake disagreed as Grace passed him room temperature soda. It wasn't going to hurt her to try and drink some. "I think you've got pneumonia."

"You don't have your medical degree, and you're not allowed to diagnose family. It's not ethical." Sam tried to sip at the soda, and somehow frowned at the same time. She barely got two sips down before she was pushing it away.

This was not good, and it was getting worse. Jake debated doing what needed to be done, and going to Wyatt and telling him that Sam couldn't be listened to right now. It made his stomach tighten, but he was getting desperate.

She teased him about diagnosing her, but damn it, he knew what he was seeing. He knew. Jake decided that he was going to do what he had to do, today, now.

"You need to go to the hospital." Grace said what Jake was thinking, pushing her granddaughter's bangs back after Sam pulled back down into her pile of blankets. The dog returned to his roost, curling into Sam again. Even the dog knew she was sick. "It's no longer up for discussion." Jake heard Grace's tone, and knew that no matter what Sam said, her grandmother would be getting her way. Jake just hoped that he could be there for Sam through this.

Sam looked at Grace, her eyes like flint. "I am not going. You can call, and tell them to talk to whoever they needs to talk to, and then tell Luke to run a line." It was the most coherent sentence she'd spoken in some time, and Jake was on the phone before the dog hopped back up on the couch. She had admitted she needed help, and she had made her choice in seeking it out.

_That was the first step._

_Layla, you've got me on my knees._

_Layla, I'm begging, darling please._

_Layla, darling won't you ease my worried mind?_

_Let's make the best of the situation before I finally go insane._

_Layla_ , Derek & The Dominos 

 

Luke showed up, and Sam figured that he had been planning on coming anyway. She hated when her family conspired against her. The stethoscope was cold against her back, freezing along the sweaty bones and slopes of her body. "Breathe, Sam." Luke instructed, listening carefully to her lungs.

She did not say that she was trying. They all knew it, and saying so was pointless. He listened to various spots, then looped the stethoscope over his neck like she had seen him do a hundred times before. "You should have gone to the doctor yesterday."

What sort of alternate universe had she woken up in? Was this his new and improved patient skill-set? What on God's green earth was this? Sam was just so confused. "I don't get it." She coughed into her sleeve.

"Right." Luke said, and then, once again, he was his serious self. It was then Sam realized that there was blood on her sleeve. What that meant she could not fathom.

"Okay, Sammy. This is how this needs to happen." Luke said, "We'll get your things together, and we'll just drive out there, okay, and we'll get you some help."

Sam weighed her options. She knew that she had better go. She had spent a lot of time thinking about it, and the worry of not going was starting to outweigh the panic of actually being there.

She knew that she would not be alone.

Quinn had promised. He'd somehow ended up sitting here yesterday, and the whole thing had come out. She didn't want to be alone, and he had promised her that she wouldn't be, and while she knew Quinn was a prankster, he was also honorable, and if he said that he understood something, that meant he did understand, and he would help her.

She wasn't going to worry Jake further. She couldn't put this on him. He knew. But she couldn't expect him to do more, give more, not when he was so worried, and when routinely gave more than she had ever wanted life to demand of him.

Sam made up her mind as she looked over at Jake. This would help him to feel better, too.

"Sure." Sam said, looking back at Luke, "After I take a nap." She coughed, and had to get herself to rights, "And then I need a shower, and get dressed, and then. Nap. Then we'll go. Couple hours."

Luke shook his head. He was more crinkly around his eyes when he smiled. "Sam. We need to get moving. There's no time for showers. And if you want one when you get there, the nurses will be glad to help you."

Sam closed her eyes to think. What he said made no sense. She was only going to the ER. They didn't give showers in the ER. He should remember that.

 

 _In another's eyes I can do no wrong_  
_He believes in me and his faith is strong_  
_I'd never fall or even compromise_  
_In another's eyes_

 _In another's eyes starin' back at me_  
_I see a sinking soul trying desperately_  
_To turn the tide before it dies_  
_In another's eyes_

 _And what they don't see is killing me_  
_And it's a blessing and a curse that love is blind_

 _In Another's Eyes,_ Trisha Yearwood w. Garth Brooks

 

Jake breathed out. "Sam." He gently touched her shoulder. She was falling back asleep, with Dad sitting right there, telling her she needed to get up. He knew, they all knew, that she was exhausted.

Sam jumped. "Please."

Jake didn't want to coddle her, because it would only lead to people jumping to conclusions and pissing her off. He didn't want to make it seem like he was doing that, because she wouldn't want it, and that's not who they were. Were she well, he would have tossed a sweater at her, and told her to suck it up. But she wasn't well, or they wouldn't be faced with this, again.

That realization changed everything. They had done this once and they could do this again.

The room was packed with Dad, Gram, Luke, Jake, and Sam. He couldn't tell her anything.

Jake realized that they hadn't helped her to do this before. He remembered the trip to the hospital in San Fransisco, and was glad that they at least had a little time.Jake knew that he was going to have to move this along. "Sam, you have to get up now."

Sam muttered, like she was only just realizing this fact. "I'm not dressed."

"No." Jake agreed, "It's okay."

She had been rotating through that huge stock of nightgowns she had. Jake remembered, way back on that first week at Sue's, wondering why she had so many nightclothes. He'd come to understand that she went through them like water. She pretty much rotated them, when sick, and he saw Sue's personality in the idea that they would be as multifaceted as her regular clothes.

"But I'm not…" Sam breathed. "I can't."

She glanced over at Grace. And suddenly, Jake got it. Sam thought she absolutely could not leave the house in plaid capris and a t-shirt. She had just changed her pajamas before Dad had come.

Grace had picked these, obviously anticipating the trip. What she had not anticipated, clearly, was Sam's focus on doing things the right way, the way that typically…

"Honey." Grace cut in. "What can we do to make this easier on you?"

"I…" Sam's gaze was befuddled, cloudy. "I'm not leaving like this, and they can't make me."

"Nobody is going to make you do anything." Jake promised her, "But we do have a drive, and getting all dressed doesn't make any sense, if you're just going to nap in the truck. This. This isn't." He didn't know what this wasn't, "Nobody cares."

"I care." Sam coughed, "I am going on my terms, mine. And I want a nap, and I want…" She trailed off when Gram cut her off.

"Sammy." Gram said, "We'll find some of those yoga pants you like. And how about your FFA hoodie with the kangaroo pocket? But you have five minutes to do with what you will and on that, there is going to be no lip, do you understand?"

Sam understood. She coughed as she sat up, leaned into Jake, and let him push back her hair until she found some semblance of balance from resting her head against his side until she could breathe.

While Sam was in the bathroom with Grace, Jake moved fast, though not fast enough that he hoped to cause worry. He grabbed the bug-out bag, unzipped it on the kitchen table, and looked into the Jansport.

The medical records were always in there, and so Jake tossed in some of what she had been taking in the last few days, along with her cosmetic bag that held her daily meds from the kitchen counter.

Moving around Wyatt, he opened the fridge, and found a can of Ensure, a Gatorade, and the box of Nilla Wafers from the counter. Grace hated ready made food, but she'd thankfully fallen silent over the past few days. Wyatt said, "How long do you expect to be there?"

Jake didn't answer that question. He had no real idea. He hoped they'd stabilize her and send her home. On the other hand, it could be days. "She's not going to eat what they have there." Jake threw them in the bag, and checked again to make sure the things that never left the bag were in there.

Leaving the bag when he heard the toilet flush, he zipped the bag, threw it over his shoulder, and went into the living room. Jake grabbed three pillows from the top of the stack, and carried them back into the kitchen. The blanket he grabbed was meant for the bed, and so he balled it up, knowing that the extra fabric was needed.

Wyatt at least had the sense to get the door. "Good idea."

Jake just stared at him. Maybe he wanted to hurt him a little bit, and maybe he was angry at the situation and lashing out at Wyatt. "We've been through this before. The hospital pillows are wrapped in plastic." Underneath his tone was a clear message: you should have been there the first time, and then you wouldn't be looking at me like a deer in headlights.

Wyatt backed off. The screen door slammed behind him as he put the backpack and the pillows and blankets on the seat. Dad had already put a sheet down on the seat. Vomit would be hell to get out of the upholstery. It didn't shock him that his own father was doing more work than Wyatt.

"Jake." Dad said, as he came around the cab. "I won't ask you to stay here."

"It'd be a waste of breath." Jake agreed, unfolding the blanket enough to make it rather nest-like on the left side, in a way that wouldn't interfere with the belt.

Jake reached up into the center, and cranked the heat.

"Just don't shut the rest of us out, please." Dad said, simply, "We're here. But you both need to let us be here. Sam's looking to you. You need to look to everyone else."

Jake didn't know what to say to that. He hadn't shut out people before, not really. Had he? Jake didn't have time for this. He nodded slowly, trying to make sense of the look on his father's face.

Even so, they had done this once before. They could do it again.

 

_See I've been looking up, looking down, looking side to side_

_Wondering why this world is the way that it is and why my momma cries_

_every night when I'm trying to rest my head on the floor,_

_Half-stoned thinking, "Damn, this shit gets old."_

_This Shit Getz Old_ , NeverShoutNever

 

She was back at the hospital. At least she had her own wheelchair, and not some creepy one that a million people had sat in.

She hated this place, hated all hospitals really. They had too much noise, from the clicking of the PA system to the buzzing of the lights.

The blankets were a funny texture, and the blue gloves were often too big for the nurses. They made her skin hurt.

The details rankled, because they filled her mind.

The rush of energy that had consumed her on her arrival here had fast faded.

She turned her head against the bed in the center of a tiny room made up of curtains, and scowled. Jake didn't deserve this. He looked as miserable as she felt, and it couldn't be a picnic, having to sit in the room with her father, and to know that they were here because of her.

She did not say she was in pain. It would only add to his own pain. She did not cry and say she was miserable. She just sat there, fighting sleep until a nurse came in, ducking through the yellowish curtains, and smiled.

Sam knew it was a bad kind of smile. Sam's labored breathing grew tighter still as she saw the bundle of dotted fabric in the woman's arms. Nononnono.

The greenish color of the dots was an affront to humanity in general. "I told you I wasn't staying."

She had to pick up the oxygen mask in order to say that, but she said it. Why couldn't she have a nose cannula like a normal person? Her chest hurt, and she didn't know if the implications clear on the nurse's face made it worse.

"You need an x-ray." The nurse replied, "Let's just get you changed." Sam capitulated, wishing that she had brought along her own. The ones she'd been giving at the rehab were more like clothing, and weren't awful and oversized and designed to make her freeze.

Sam knew that this was the part of being admitted that she hated. She knew that she was being given the once over for bruises and needle mark scars as she was helped to change. The woman looked at the marks and scars on her body, and Sam felt the professional gaze heavily.

Without background information, Sam found herself reexplaining things that she had already said once before.

She was asked questions that they already knew the answer to, questions they asked everyone. It wasn't like they had any reason to doubt her word about drugs, alcohol, STDs, or pregnancy, but they ran the tests anyway. Sam wanted to ask the woman what her drug test results had been, and what her hormone levels were, but it was too much work to be impertinent. She was too tired to confirm the obvious just to be cheeky.

Sam knew the drill, and she played along. Her lack of balance and support was limiting, but she was able to mostly dress herself. Sam asked for another gown, and the nurse got it with a sad smile, "You're a frequent flyer, huh?"

Sam did not have the energy to reply. The nurse seemed to understand.

She got settled back into the bed, and the nurse pulled the curtain around the narrow bed open. Sam's ire ran out of steam when they came back in. They looked like they were about to come to blows.

Jake was tense, and her father looked angry.

Gram looked uneasy, and had placed herself between Jake and Dad. Gram glanced at Sam, and the expression on her face was telling.

Sadness lanced through her. She didn't think this was the best time to push her agenda. They had been doing so well for the last few months.

She was just so tired, and everything hurt so much. Jake sat down on the edge of the bed, near her side.

He knew something.

The attending came in, a nanosecond later. She had been here for ages, and only now was the man returning to her cubby. "We'd like to admit you for testing. We need to get you some x-rays, check for DVT, test for meningitis, among other things." The doctor was clearly a busy person, used to speaking quickly and acting without delay.

Sam had things to do, too. She had to sleep, first, obviously, but then she had stuff to do. What stuff she couldn't quite think of, but stuff just the same. "What am I, a wall?" She pulled up the oxygen mask, and watched her numbers drop.

The colors shifting made her dizzy. "Throw enough tests at me and hope something sticks?" She looked at Jake, and Sam dragged in a painful breath, "It's not meningitis, none of my limbs are warm or swollen, so it can't be DVT or a PE."

The doctor tried to cut her off, to tell her what they were all thinking about keeping the oxygen on, but she kept on going, "Did you know it's freezing in here? I've already had surgery, so there's..." she broke off from telling the doctor about her medical treatments, grabbed the mask and sucked in another breath of air, "You can have your x-ray, but...I'm going home."

The doctor was clearly used to dealing with patients like her. Jake fixed the tubing as Sam pulled the mask back on, having said what she wanted to say. She felt like a wrung out washcloth, and he saw her eyes slide close as the mask fogged up. She just wanted to sleep.

The doctor paused, "You're not consenting to these tests?"

Sam picked up the mask, again. Jake wanted to stop her, she knew, felt it in the way his hand started to shake. He didn't deserve this. Why did they keep talking to her if they wanted her to be able to breathe? "Do them. I question why." She sucked in another lungful of oxygen, as she grew increasingly woozy.

Jake steadied her body as she leaned towards him, "Little more thinking and little less covering your ass would be nice." 

"Sam!" Dad exclaimed. Sam didn't hear it, though, because she had fallen asleep, the light that was blinding her quickly going black all around her.

 

_You can't hide your lyin eyes and your smile is a thin disguise_

_I thought by now you'd realize_

_There ain't no way to hide your lyin' eyes_

_There ain't no way to hide your lyin' eyes_

_Lyin' Eyes_ , The Eagles

 

The doctor moved towards the IV pole and the monitors. Jake fixed the mask on the oxygen, and the doctor spoke, "We'll run what tests we can and go from there." The doctor flipped open the chart at the foot of the bed, and peered through it. "Hopefully, we can get you out of the ER quickly. It may be that whatever's going on with her lungs is connected to the syncope and collapse."

Jake knew what was going on because this game was old hat.

They waited, now, and that was all. It still sucked, and were some of the worst moments of their life, but it was manageable because he knew the drill well enough.

Jake wanted to punch Wyatt for what he had said in the hall, in earshot of the doctor, no less. Wyatt was happy about Sam having to stay here, even knowing that it was the last thing she wanted. Sam's hand was in a funny position, so he reached over and fixed it so that the muscles wouldn't cramp.

Jake knew she had to stay, but knowing and understanding was different than wanting her to stay. It was a totally different thing. Wyatt still understood nothing.

Grace sat down in the chair by the bed. Her worry was palpable. Jake wished he was cruel enough to tell her that Sam had been far sicker in San Francisco. This time she was fighting back. She wasn't passively waiting, and she wasn't giving in to the pain and shutting out her support system. She wasn't pushing them all away. That was huge, and Jake wanted to do the same. He wanted to meet her half-way.

He was proud of their progress, but was sad that they had to come back to this place to see it clearly. "She's okay, Grace."

Grace picked up her knitting from the bag at her side, and did not reply. Wyatt did, though. "You have a funny definition of okay."

Jake's teeth came together with such force that they nearly clacked as they met. Jake took in Wyatt's bearing, and tried to haul up sympathy for the man. He was clearly ill at ease. How lucky he was to have that option of being uncomfortable in a room like this. He wouldn't be if he had been there when she needed him all the times before. "Read her chart if you don't believe me."

Jake took some sick pride in the fact that Wyatt could not read charts. He had known how to do it since he was 11. Looking back, it was clear that medical work had always fascinated him, even as a child pestering his father.

Wyatt was clearly frustrated. He was letting his frustration get in the way of Sam's needs, and it ticked Jake off.

After a moment, Sam blurted, "Don't call Jen." Just that, out of the blue. "Should I call Jen?"

"She's at school, Sammy." Grace said, "You can call her later, if you want."

A few minutes after that, a nurse appeared, "We're ready for you, Samantha."

Grace waited in her room. Jake knew that it hurt her to see Sam like this, and he guessed that Wyatt felt the same way. That shouldn't matter though, and every single time Wyatt hesitated, acted like he had any right to be annoyed or frustrated, it made Jake want to punch him.

Jake sat for what felt like ages while they all went down and for an x-ray. She slipped when she got up to get in the chair, and she dry heaved in the elevator, the slight bit of movement jarring her. The nurse basically strong-armed her into nausea medications, overcoming her weak protests with rationality and a motherly attitude that brought Sam around, and dimmed the lights when she could.

The x-rays were quickly done, but by then the conclusion was forgone in Jake's mind.

It was a simple case of double pneumonia, but it was bad enough to have caused dehydration among other things that were more or less related to, and because of, the TBI. The polytraumas struck again, had caused the fall and some issues with her blood pressure, so he supposed upon the basis of what the doctor said when he popped in.

Sam was transferred upstairs, barely awake as she moved around. They decided to run blood and sputum cultures. Jake knew then that Sam wasn't coming home for at least a few days. Grace had already informed Mrs. Church and everyone at home.

Sam protested spitting like they needed her to do. She was fussy and fastidious in the oddest ways at the oddest of times. She did it because she had no other choice, but the efforts caused her get dizzy and cough.

Her body was sticky with fever and illness, and it was clear that her mind was rebelling. She could barely stand to move, barely stand to be touched. Her senses were screaming at her, her body protesting this illness in the only way it knew would make her sit up and pay attention.

When they put the IV in, Grace slipped out of the room, to get juice, and Wyatt spoke to Sam. He didn't know what was said, and he didn't care so long as Sam was okay, because he went to the car with Grace to get Sam's sweater that she'd asked Grace to bring.

It was 5:17 when his mom came in from school. Sam wasn't very heavily asleep, and Mom had just missed Grace and Wyatt. They had gone to get some food.

Jake didn't feel like eating. "Hey, Mom." He didn't stand up, but he did pull in his feet to sit up, rather than leaning slightly as he had been.

"Hi, Jake." Mom stood in the doorway. She looked tired and worn, and Jake knew that these last few months had been harder on her than they'd had any right to be. "You got your shot, right?" Sam was hopefully not contagious, but they didn't know. They had no way of knowing yet, and he couldn't not ask Mom. This was his mother, after all.

"I work in a fishbowl of germs, Jake, and I live with your father." Mom replied, setting her purse on the small counter. "How is she?"

Jake tone was bald, "Sick." Sam's body was tucked under mauve blankets.

He knew that, compared to him, she was a slight person, small, fragile. But in looking at her, all he could really see was the strength that seemed to just bloom from her, strength that seemed to command ownership of the space she occupied, just as her light and her presence filled his soul.

They had been in this room for only a few hours, but already, her handprints were all over it. The bedside table was to the left, the blinds were down, and her extra bedding was on the extra chair he wasn't sitting in.

The bathroom door was open, and Jake saw the opposite side of the room reflected in the corner of the spotless mirror.

Her sats were decent, and the cough that had racked her for the last few days had softened with what they'd given her. She was still coughing up green and rust colored mucous, and sometimes a few tablespoons of blood along with it, but the desperation in the cough seemed to lessen. The blood was new, today.

"I'm not..." Sam pushed up the bed quickly. He hadn't realized she was awake. The cough rattled around as she picked up her blanket and coughed into it. It was a a lucky grab because whatever she coughed up ended up on the blanket. Jake saw her tuck the soiled spot under, using the sheet to fold it like a tissue, not wanting to draw attention to the action in front of Mom. "...sick."

Nobody corrected her. Sam fumbled around for her cup of ice. Her throat was probably killing her from coughing.

Mom shifted, and passed Sam the ice. Sam fished out a small piece of it, and put in her mouth. She had previously said swallowing hurt, but nobody disobeyed Mom. Jake watched as Mom tucked the tubing back behind Sam's ear.

She had gotten the nose cannula she'd advocated for, mostly with her mulish glare and her polite but iron demands.

Somehow, having Mom here fixed things he did not even know were wrong.

Jake relaxed a little bit in the wide chair. Mom would get Sam to eat something, maybe, and she would make her smile. Mom always knew how to fix things that couldn't be fixed. Jake let their conversation float by him, feeling safer than he had in a while.

Sam spoke, grabbing his attention with his name. "Jake, Max is going to give you a ride home."

Her tired eyes were filled with conviction, cutting Jake off before he could even disagree. She and Mom had planned this, hashed this out between them. "You need food." She inhaled, the violet under her eyes growing more purple. "The cat told me he's hungry." The drugs were working, then. He knew that she was meaning to ask him to feed that cat of hers. He was boxed in when Sam added rationally, "You can bring the truck back."

They had not planned this trip well. He had the emergency bag and his wallet, but that was it. Jake cursed himself for not bringing some stuff. He had hoped they would send her home, even when he knew better. Her bag held copies of medical records Sam had recently gotten, her list of meds, and some other paperwork in a folder she carried around since San Francisco, phone numbers, insurance cards, things like that. There was a cosmetic bag in the bottom of the front pocket of the old Jansport.

It held a few doses of medications she literally could not live without, and an extra inhaler. She packed it, so he was going off of his memory. Also in the backpack was a book for him, some granola that wouldn't spoil for two years, some warm socks and hair ties, some IcyHot and aloe, some girly stuff, and an extra phone charger. The extra $50 in the back was tucked away, hidden, beneath a huge roll of tape. It was the strangest bug out bag, he knew, but Sam rarely left the house without it.

Whatever words he was trying to force out were cut off by the arrival of the nurse, with her thermometer and her expectations of privacy. Instead of disagreeing, Jake stood up, put his lips in her hair to breathe her scent.

Sam's taped hand came up to rest on his arm, and her head pressed into his side. His eyes closed, and Jake prayed silently.

When his eyes opened, he looked over and saw Mom standing by the door, before she crossed the room and promised Sam that she'd be back soon. Mom lingered at the threshold, then, and Jake watched her shoulders slump as they turned the corner.

He realized slowly, painfully, that there were some things even his mother could not fix. And what was worse was the fact that she knew it herself.

_My first love was a castle in the sky_

_I never thought I'd make it 'till I had the guts to try_

_And I sat up in my tower while the whole world passed me by_

_My first love was an angry painful song_

_I wanted one so bad I went and did everything wrong_

_A lesson in reality would come before too long_

_My first love was a wicked twisted road_

_I hit the million mile mark at seventeen years old_

_I never saw the rainbow much less a pot of gold_

_Wicked Twisted Road_ , Reckless Kelly

"Thanks." Sam whispered. Her voice was hoarse, almost gone. It was thready and awful, and it was jarring to hear.

She was no better, and she felt worse because she was so tired and so worn out. The nurse left the dark room. Sam was so tired.

Dad had gone home, and Gram had gone with him. She had forced herself not to cry and beg Gram to stay with her. It was different this time, but it was still the same. She still had to do this part alone.

She had a life to get back to, and she was awash in anger because it seemed that everything had been going her way these last few months, and here she was, knocked over and back in a bed, trapped in this room. There was no world outside its walls that mattered. Her head pounded, and she tried to shift. "Do you want an extra pillow?" The nurse asked.

Sam nodded, forgoing speech. The hospital was so different here. She felt like she was on a ward in that zombie TV show. This was not San Francisco, and the view was not of city streets. She didn't even know what the view was, parking lots, probably. Her mind was so unbearably sluggish. 

"My IV hurts." Sam admitted, when the nurse on duty returned with the pillow. Sam pushed it down, next to her. It was a poor substitute for Jake, but it took up the space in the bed that should have been his. Her head was pounding.

Sam didn't know why, but the line really hurt, felt like it was leaking and burning. The nurse turned up the overhead light with apologies, and took a look at the site. She turned to her cart, and got another drip kit. Sam figured that they just needed to move the drip. It had been inserted in a hurry.

She wanted to ask if the nurse would please put it in her left hand, because they had moved the bed. Nothing came out when she moved her lips to speak. 

Sam knew the woman didn't hear her. She tried to speak again. "Le…"

The nurse heard her, looked at her intently, giving her time to get the word out. "Your left hand?"

Sam tried to convey her thanks for not having to speak with a tired smile.

Sam missed her port. It had been hell to keep clean and bathe with when there was a needle in it, but it had avoided this cycle of being stuck with needles because the scar tissue had eventually numbed the pain of being stuck over and over.

Sam frowned, and let the woman do her job. It was nearly time for the night shift to begin, almost seven, and the nurse looked tired. The needle hurt going in, but they almost always did. Sam saw the flash of blood in the hub, and felt an instinctual wave of something fearful.

It passed quickly.

Sam watched the nurse do what she needed to do, watched her check and recheck everything. Sam knew the saying. The right drug, the right patient, at the right dose, every time.

She finished up, and fixed Sam's blankets. Sam knew right away, on some level, that this woman was a good practitioner. Her professionalism was tempered by someone who saw her as a person, no matter how tired or annoyed she was. "Can I get you anything else? You're sure you don't want pain meds?"

Sam shook her head.

The point of all of this was clear. She had been knocked down again, and she had to get up all the faster. She knew her way around this block, and had no intention of staying on it, but she had to come back to know that. There was no question of where she belonged. Not this time."Try and drink your water, at least."

The nurse pushed the bedside table closer, and left the room.

Sam stared at the wall, avoiding the water because she did not want to have to get up and go to the bathroom. The last time she had been actually admitted to the hospital, outside of that time with fluid in her lungs, she had been a totally different person. Then, she had been so angry that her angry had caused to shut down.

She wasn't willing to go there again, and at least she knew it. Her context was different now, and she had to make the most of those differences somehow, because they meant something.

They had to mean something. This winter had to mean something. If it didn't, then her very life was meaningless, and as upset as she was, Sam wasn't willing to buy into that idea. The things she had learned about herself had to mean something. And yet, she was back where she started, sitting in a hospital room, alone, with another mountain to climb.

The panic within her chest was not easily managed, but Sam found some control and resolve in knowing where it came from. She did not want to be alone. She passed the hours, the minutes, the seconds, telling herself that she wasn't alone.

Sam fumbled in her blankets for the cell phone she'd stuck under her pillow. She pulled out the phone, glad that Jake had turned the brightness almost off, and tapped out, "I don't have a roommate this time."

Her phone buzzed a minute later, "Sucks to be you, then."

Matrona knew, at least. Sam smiled, and put her phone on the bedside table. It did suck to be her, but at least she knew now what kind of life she had to return to, soon. For now, though, all she wanted to do was sleep.

Sadly, sleep was a long time coming now that Gram had gone home, and the pillow in front of her had no heartbeat. 

 

_Surprise, surprise_

_Couldn't find it in your eyes but I'm sure it's written all over my face_

_Surprise, surprise_

_Never something I could hide when I see we made it through another day_

_And now the night will throw its cover down on me again_

_Oh, and if I'm right_

_It's the only way to bring me back_

_Sunrise,_ Norah Jones

 

Sam's eyes fluttered as Jake set down the coffee cup on the counter. Sam heard the rustle of a bag, which made her sick to her stomach, "Shut up." She croaked it, it sounded more like a hiss, and tried to reach her blankets to pull them over her head, a hum of pain throbbing inside of her.

She coughed, and felt some sputum shake loose.

"Well, that's appetizing." There was a box of tissues in her lap, then, by the time Quinn finished speaking.

Sam opened her eyes as she pulled the gunky tissues away, and returned, "So is that swill you call a beverage." Her voice was thready and weak, but it was there again, if broken.

"That's bitchy." Quinn said, yanking Jake's chair closer to the bedside, and placing a hot cup on the bed table, "I bring you a tea, something nice to look at, and news of the outside world, and you call the coffee that has become my lifeblood swill."

Sam didn't have the energy to giggle or to hide the truth in her words. "The fever has addled my brain." She noticed that Quinn was alone. "Where's Jake?"

Quinn fixed her with a arch look that was clearly hiding worry. "He's parking the truck."

Sam knew then that Quinn had lorded his thirteen months over his brother, and had been dropped off at the door. Sam breathed out, glad that he was there, even though she knew she should be annoyed. "I thought you had a date last night. Did it suck?" Sam knew her voice was rough from illness, but she went on, as she reached for the lukewarm water tumbler on the table, hoping that it would make the voice she had last longer. "Is that why you're up so early?"

"Nah, I told her my sister was sick, probably has the plague, and then ice cream didn't sound so hot, not when it came with the potential for a dose of Cipro." There was a bald honesty in Quinn's tone.

"I'm sorry she's not…" _I'm sorry she's not Sarah Jane._ Sam wanted to say that, but she couldn't. She couldn't pour salt into a wound when Quinn was trying so hard to hide the obvious.

Truthfully, though, she could no longer speak. Her voice was just gone.

"I'm enjoying the whole single thing. Kit and Cricket have the married thing locked down, you and Jake are dramatic enough to be enough entertainment when I need it, and I'm not exactly hurting for company."

"I don't want to hear about your company!" Sam squeaked. She paused to cough, careful to turn away from Quinn.

When she turned back, there was a marker and her sketch pad in her lap. Quinn's meaning was clear.

He broke into her protest when she could breathe again, "But hey, you might have the plague. I googled, and the symptoms fit. It'd be way cooler than pneumonia. You're not even contagious. What fun is that?"

 Sam scrawled on the paper he'd handed to her.  _It's a hoot._

She wiggled her toes, debating trying to get into her wheelchair by herself. She wasn't going to be able to wait for Jake to help her. The fluids they were pumping into her were doing their jobs, and she needed help.

Sam mashed her fingers down on the buzzer, just as Jake rounded the corner, which was just her luck. Sam started to feel weaker at just the thought of having to get out of this bed.

 _Watch the sun goin' down_  
_There ain't nobody around_  
_I feel a night in the breeze_  
_I keep on tellin' myself_  
_I don't need nobody else_  
_And I can do as I please, but..._

 _Desperately_ , George Strait

 

Sam tapped the notebook against the bed rail. It read: _What section are you working on today?_

Quinn was tearing into his first pastry. Jake, on the other hand, was trying to unpack stuff from home. He put lunch on top of a book. "I'm not."

The expression on her face said everything. She glared, and opened her mouth to speak. Jake was worried about the squeak that came out. 

He cut her off, "Write, Sam, please."

She set about doing just that, her hand scribbling across the heavy paper with intention and purpose, even as she shook with the effort. Quinn snorted when she turned it around.

_You need to study. I am not getting in the way of your schedule._

Jake colored, a bit. He felt badly, knowing how much his study schedule had impacted their lives in the last few months. Quinn teased, but Sam respected it, respected it and knew when to push him and when to pull him away. "It doesn't matter."

According to the schedule he'd made, he was at least two days behind, but it didn't matter. How could he be expected to focus, or even care?

Sam blew out a breath, and was writing before he finished speaking. _I've decided this doesn't change anything. The MCAT is going to happen, and I'm not going to let you do poorly and then be responsible for telling Gram you've packed us up to St. Mungo's because they don't require the MCAT._

A dietary aide, Jake looked over to see, was at the door, bearing a tray. She set it down on the tray. "Good morning. There's a big breakfast here."

"St. Mungo's doesn't train Muggles, Sammy." Quinn said, acting as an intermediary they did not need. "Let Jake have his breakfast. Eat yours, too."

Sam nodded her thanks with a smile that Jake knew was false. When the aide left the room, Sam lifted the lid, wrinkled her nose and dropped the lid. She flopped back against the head of the raised bed, and Jake knew then that her good humor was taking up every bit of energy she had.

She was putting on a front for Quinn's sake. When Jake was close enough, under the guise of ripping the lid off the foods she would not eat, he asked, softly, "Do you need to sleep?"

He hoped that she would understand the subtext. Quinn had come out here because, well, he missed Sam. He couldn't stand not being there for her. Jake knew the feeling. Quinn was doing everything he possibly could to be there, but honestly, Jake didn't know if it was the best idea.

Sam shook her head, let her eyes fall onto where Quinn was clearly eyeing up another donut, and smiled. Jake understood, and let the matter drop. "Do you want these peaches, or do you want the…" Jake lifted the lid on the plate, "bacon?" He thought it was bacon, anyway.

Sam took the peaches. "Vegetarian?"

Jake looked at the paper attached to the tray. Vegetarian was checked. Jake ripped off a bit of the bacon, expecting that strange brittle texture of fake bacon. That stuff made him gag. Not even Sam could eat that. He chewed, answering Sam's unspoken question. "It's turkey."

She rolled her eyes, and Jake ate the bacon. "Brain food." 

"Study." Sam insisted. "I'm going to sleep." Jake watched a green tint bloom on her face. 

"Don't talk and I'll send Quinn to get you some Zofran." Jake said, mostly for her own ears. There was toast on the tray, and Jake removed the eggs, so as to slide the bread forward on the tray.

"Eat up, Sammy." Quinn spoke up. "Jen's coming in an hour." 

"Don't pressure her." Jake looked up sharply. Sam was nowhere near ready for that, and Quinn hadn't said a word to him. 

She hadn't asked Jen to come, and…

Sam put her hand on top of his. She tilted her head soothingly.  _It's okay._

Jake wasn't so sure. The light in her eyes was tired, dimmed.  _You're tired, Brat._

 _Yeah._ Sam worried her lip. Then she licked the spot she'd chewed.  _It might be good. We…_

 _I know. But today? Now?_  Jake glanced over at Quinn, then back at Sam, knowing she had followed his gaze. _I_ _can make him go away._

Quinn broke into their nonverbal conversation. At least he didn't call them rude. "I didn't think there'd be a problem." 

"There isn't." Sam said, hoarse but insistent, barely heard. She glared at the toast like it had personally offended her. 

Quinn disagreed with her, gently, but with insistence, "I can follow a conversation…" 

Jake cut him off, unwilling to talk about a decision that had been made. "...that doesn't include you enough to know that we would have included you if we had anything to say to you."

It didn't take anyone with anything resembling passing intellect to interpret the sharp click of Sam's teeth together. "Nice." She said, which Jake took to mean, "Not nice." or "Hey, be nice." 

Quinn colored. "You don't get a free pass on being an ass because you're in pain, Jake. We're trying to help you." 

"Shut up." Sam snapped, with a indrawn breath. She must have felt the retort building in Jake's body. She softened after a second, by choice or by circumstance, Jake did not know, because she grew increasingly green in the span of a second, and leaned against her pillow. 

"Are you going to throw up?" Jake asked, pulling the table and the offending breakfast away from her. She hadn't even eaten. 

"No." She said, after a second, "I'm okay. You…you'd better get that Zofran, though." Jake knew what the frank admission that she would not be able to go on with that support meant, and he slipped out of the room after putting the basin next to her, and frowning at Quinn. 

He regretted bringing his MCAT books when Sam pressed one into his hands, having roped the nurses into helping her shower before Jen came. He didn't read. He spent the whole time wondering why Quinn was looking like he had met an objective, and was wondering if his goal had been the right choice. 

 

 _Take another shot of courage_  
_Wonder why the right words never come_  
_You just get numb_  
_It's another tequila sunrise,this old world_  
_still looks the same_

 _Tequila Sunrise,_ The Eagles 

Jake watched the sun come up through the window in the hospital room for the third time. It had been almost four days, four days that went on like decades. The weak rays were somehow brilliant and beautiful. "The sun's pretty." Sam rasped from the bed. Jake rubbed his eyes and looked at her.

It was pretty, but not as welcome a sight as she was right now. She wasn't responding to antibiotics as she should be responding to them. She was drifting farther and farther away, sleeping more, growing more and more drawn out.

She was in pain and flat out refused the pain medication. It was her right. He kept telling himself that, but he hated that she was suffering.

He fantasized about dosing her, just so the pain in her eyes would fade. He hated himself for his desire.

He also hated that she cared so much about him, for the first time in his life.  "You're okay?" He wasn't, but he understood her question.

Who would be okay in this situation? His use of the word earlier in the week annoyed him. The doctors were worried about secondary blood infections, and she was worried about _him_.

"We're both okay." Jake lied to her face.

Sam smiled like she knew his secret. She knew it for the lie that it was. "They're going to come and do the echo soon." He kept a running list in his head, and he couldn't shut it off.

The blood cultures had been getting worse, and they couldn't test again for some time. The waiting was endless. Sam pushed the bed up, and fumbled for the papers on her bedside table.

Jake sat behind her, between the head of the bed and her back. She leaned back against him and read the menu of the day. She wasn't likely to eat any of it, but something to do was hard to come by in the few hours a day she wasn't actually sleeping. "Do you think I could go to the cafeteria after the echo?"

Jake knew the answer was a big fat no. She wasn't going to infect other people, but she was lucky that they hadn't quarantined her because of how ill she actually was. Jake didn't think she actually had internalized what was going on, but he guessed that kept her going. She was sick and tired, and he knew that stepping into that crowd of people would be too much for her on a myriad of levels.

He understood the restlessness, though. "Maybe."

He couldn't tell the truth. She was exhausted when Jen shown up for ten minutes. Quinn had practically pulled Jen from the room when the time had come to say goodbye. She'd gone so very pale, and had nearly broken down. He had never, ever, wanted to see Jen Kenworthy with tears in her eyes.

He didn't think that she was the crying sort. It had been hard to see this situation through Jen's eyes, to understand that the slow clicking of monitors wasn't something that he was supposed to accept as something they had to deal with. It was hard to see this through the eyes of Jen, who, unlike Sam, wasn't so strong so as to make this seem like a minor annoyance that she'd get through, and as though being annoyed with the fuss was her due. 

That simple, run of mill, surface visit had exhausted Sam. Still, she wanted out of this room, and that was something.

Sam rotated, and blinked up at him. "Liar." She sighed, and held up the paper. "My head is killing me." Jake took the paper and read the menu out loud. There wasn't much to speak of, not that there ever was. Jake rubbed her back. He wanted very badly to hold her, but he knew better than to think that the nurses would be okay with it. Sam leaned back against his side, and he felt the air she drew in rattle around inside of her.

Sam reached over for the juice. Jake wrapped his hand around it, holding the cup steady for her as she sipped it and grimaced.

Not only did it hurt, but it was sour. Jake knew that people who had used pills for medical reasons often developed a bigger sweet tooth. He wasn't sure if it was about pain management or brain chemistry or what, but it was true. Sam spat out the straw, and coughed into the crook of her elbow.

Her body shook, and Jake felt powerless. Sam closed her eyes, and rested against him. Jake was glad that they didn't need words between them.

 

_Lately things haven't been goin' our way and this road seems to get steeper every day_

_You crawl inside yourself; when I pull you out we fight_

_Seems like you've forgotten I'm on your side_

_I'm On Your Side_ , Patty Loveless

Jake hated the next part of the day. It made him feel jittery, full of expectation. He was not good at waiting, and waiting for Sam to get better was hell. He kept going over the last few weeks.

Had he brought something home? Had it been something at that new flip that had seemed like such a good idea? What had done this to her? Jake moved around the small room, cleaned up a bit, moved around just to move around.

He went into the small attached bathroom and filled a small cup with some water. He got a basin and Sam's toothbrush. Jake set it on the small bed table, and Sam pulled it closer, and brushed her teeth. It was amazing, the things she could figure out how to do so neatly, without access to a sink. He'd never call her fastidious and neat to her face, but she was. 

Sam smiled her thanks, and let her head fall back against the pillows, "Let Shelly take care of that."

Jake rolled his eyes, but complied with her wishes. She was so odd about the silliest things. Like her spit was supposed to put him off. He put the basin on the small counter near the door. "How are you, really?" He hadn't meant to ask her that, but now that the words were out, he couldn't take them back.

"I'm fine." Sam lied, "I think you should go to school, work, whatever, today." Sam shifted on the bed, pushed the button to sit back from where she'd pushed herself up more fully to lean over and brush her teeth.

"I have work." Jake gestured to the book on the nightstand. He got what he could done on the laptop in here. He went home when he had to, for more clothes, for a shower, to check on the horses, to humor Sam's whims, to placate their family.

"Jake." Sam shook her head, shooting a glance at the pile of study books he hadn't really touched. "You can't sit here all day." Her tired eyes were hard, and he saw the emotion that she could not physically put into her words. Sam reached out for her phone, and let it fall into her lap.

Said who, exactly? The nurses gave him a wide berth. He knew why. Sam didn't wake up as much when she knew he was here, and they didn't have to worry about Sam being alone, or worry about waking up Grace at night. It was win/win for everyone. "You can't tell me what to do."

Okay. So maybe she could, at least in this.

And maybe he was acting like he was five. It wasn't like he had to listen.

But she didn't get it. She sounded out of it. What was out there that needed to be dealt with? Nothing that couldn't wait, and he didn't think...He knew that he could not walk away from her. Where was her head, really?

Sam pressed, "I don't want to fight with you."

"Then don't." Jake shut the whole thing down, and picked up his book. He didn't want to talk to her if she was going to act a fool.

They passed the next while in silence. Sam called Pepper and checked on the horses, and then called Quinn and checked on Witch. She called as much as was possible, and it seemed to Jake that she was trying not to let go this time. She was holding onto her life with both hands this time. It was just as much Jake hoped holding on helped her get through the next few days.

The day nurse, Shelly, came and made her first set of rounds. Jake watched her like a hawk. He liked the nurses well enough. He just learned a lot from watching them. They often explained things as they worked, and Shelly was generally open to questions even if they did not come from Sam. "Oh." Shelly said to Sam, "I forgot to tell you. The echo tech'll be up soon."

Yeah, Jake thought. She thought that more was going on outside these walls. She thought that nothing was happening here, and that realization broke his heart. How had this become normal for them?

_It would help me to know:_

_Do I stand in your way or am I the best thing you've had?_

_When I'm losing control will you turn me away or touch me deep inside?_

_And when all this gets old, will it still feel the same?_

_There's no way this will die, but if we get much closer, I could lose control._

_Love is a Battlefield_ , Pat Benatar

Sam leaned on Jake, and slid down from her bed, carefully. She wanted to take the time to hug him, but she couldn't even so much as lean in too much, because of the spectators. PDA was not her style, nor was it his. 

She spent all of her time sitting her, sleeping, and then when they said move, she had to hop to it, and she didn't like it one IV bag was already on the pole, and the back of the chair. "Why can't you unhook me?" Sam looked at the tech, and at Shelly, as Jake helped her to shift into the chair.

She was tired of this nightgown routine. She was tired of the tubes and the wires.

"Because." Shelly replied, handing her a blanket, as her colleague steadied the chair. "You need the fluids and the meds, and breathing is good, even if it doesn't much feel that way to you." Sam got the idea that she had too many children. She had that whole Max vibe going.

Sam reached down with her right hand and pulled the brake on the hospital chair. Her chair did not have space for the IV or the oxygen. Sam felt like crap, and she knew she looked like hell. She wanted to go back to sleep.

Shelly had woken her up, and she hated that, because being woken up always raised her heart rate, and then everyone got all watchful. If they would just let Jake or Gram wake her up, things would not be so bad. It was the panic, and that was all. She wasn't going to talk about that, though. 

She did not want to cross the threshold. She was so very tired. Going to the bathroom 25 minutes ago had been enough of a workout.

Jake moved aside to grab her phone, because he had let his die. She had promised Gram not to leave either him or the room without the phone. Becky moved to take the handlebars, and Sam snapped, "Don't touch the chair." It might not be her chair technically, but it was hers because she was sitting in it, even though it made her skin crawl and her head pound, "You didn't ask."

Becky was not offended, "May I?"

Shelly was stripping the bed, and her tags hit the plastic covering on the mattress. The sound made Sam flinch, and reflexively each up to cover her ears quickly. This was too much.

Becky looked confused. Had she not just told Shelly that touching her hurt? Had she not stepped aside so Jake could help her? With purpose, Sam dropped her arms down. She hated when she just automatically reacted like that. It was embarrassing. Becky stepped away, slightly. She got the picture.

Sam withdrew into her head, trying to find a space that was not so stressed. "No." Sam replied, gently. She did not like other people pushing her chair. She did not know them, and she did not trust them, and she did not care if that was their jobs, because they didn't do it right, ever. She looked over tiredly at Jake, "Why are we doing this again?"

He took the handlebars of the chair, and crossed the threshold. Becky directed him down the hall a bit. They weren't even allowed to leave the block of rooms, much less the ward or the wing. In San Francisco, they had done all of this in her room, but here, they couldn't get the room dark enough, so they needed a windowless exam room. "Because some studies connect pneumonia with an increased presentation of heart problems, statistically."

Sam swallowed. She had heard the doctor say much the same thing after her last set of labs. No doubt Jake had done a little Google Scholar and Lexus Nexus research on his own after the doctor had left the room. By the time the words left his mouth, she no longer felt so spun about. She felt heavy, and dreaded getting up on the table before her.

She did it, though. Well. Jake did most of the work. She had to blink back tired tears when the thought came to her. None of this was fair to him, but he just wouldn't listen to a word she said on the topic. She didn't want to say much. It wasn't like she wanted him to leave her. She needed him with a desperation that bordered on pathological.

She hated wondering if, somehow, she was abusing him with her need, hurting him so badly with her want of him. She could take this on her own if she had to, but she could not bear this hurting him anymore than it already had, from the stress on their barely repaired relationships to his own sense of balance. He had been doing so well coping with his PTSD, and this had to be triggering.

Jake saw her face as she slid up on the wide metal table. "Sam?"

Her equilibrium was off. Sam reached out quickly, and fisted her right hand into his sweatshirt. Air left her in a ragged, painful, whoosh. She was one second away from becoming a sobbing, hyperventilating mess. "I'm going to fall off this thing." The panic was apparent in her voice. 

She knew she was. She could feel herself falling, falling, falling, into nothingness. Her body was already anticipating the pain, for whatever reason her brain had cooked up. The table felt very narrow and unsafe. She hated, hated, hated, being on her back in situations like this.

Her pajama pants were no help, even though the cotton should have grounded her. She knew better than to think she could live in a gown. She had added the pants as soon as the nurses let her.

It was funny the lessons from the accident that had stuck with her: 

**Wear normal clothes when you can.**

**Bring a sweater. Always.**

**Never order the fish.**

**Run hospital water for two seconds before you put it in your mouth.**

**Try to feel like a human when you can.**

Sam's eyes glued to Jake as he stepped closer, using his body to provide a sense of place that she could feel. Sam felt herself relax, as his fingers brushed over the bear on her wrist.

Becky finished setting up her machine when she was sure that Sam was on the table properly. "Can you sit up for me?"

Sam found her way to sitting, her legs out in front of her. Jake pressed a palm gently into her back. She felt so weak that she was sure she would flop over backwards if he hadn't anticipated her needs. She shifted to pull the gown down, so the neckline cover the negligible swell of her chest. Sam let Jake help her lay back down as her head spun, and Becky dimmed the lights.

Sam coughed, and tried not to breathe on Jake. She wasn't contagious, but she wasn't taking that risk. What would happen to them all, if something happened to him?

Becky paused as she reached for a towel, her wand, and the jelly. "It's alright with you if he stays?"

Sam tilted her head to see the tech more clearly. "Obviously." Really, and honestly, there was nothing at all even a little bit sexual about getting naked like this. There was not one thing that made this at all enjoyable. And anyway, even if there had been, it wasn't like he hadn't seen her naked.

It was different now. She didn't have to fill the silence with only the stranger tech for company.

Becky took her word, and continued on. "We're just taking a quick look at your heart, Sam." She gestured to the monitor, "We'll do the doppler too."

Sam pushed the side of the gown down, and let Becky do her thing. The gel was cold.

It was always cold. That hadn't changed. The electrodes still felt gummy.

First, Becky put her wand a few inches to the left off center, somewhere around her 5th rib. "This is called the parasternal long axis." Becky said.

She seemed to note that Sam needed somebody to talk. It would be so easy to let her eyes fall shut in this dark room, with Jake's touch comforting her, even despite the pain and her fear. Sam blinked heavily. Becky zoomed in and out, and Sam shut her eyes at the sound of it all.

This position was so odd.

Her arm was up, underneath her head, and she felt exposed to this woman, exposed to this process. There was nothing to it, but lying like this made it harder to breathe. Sam felt Jake there, and knew it was selfish to be so glad that he was here this time.

She made some sound out of pure reaction at how hard Becky pressed. Becky lessened up, and Jake's gaze was there to cling to, this time. Sam wondered if Becky was going to break her chest with how hard she seemed to have to press down sometimes, moving and working around the sticky electrodes pressed into her flesh.

After a time, Becky required her to participate. "Can you bend your knees up and take a deep breath?" Sam needed help to plant her feet, and she had to tilt her spine a little, but she did as Becky asked. She didn't mind this as much as she had minded having to tilt her head back to expose her neck fully.

It hurt so badly to breathe.

_She tied you to a kitchen chair, she broke your throne, and she cut your hair_

_And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah_

_Maybe I have been here before_

_I know this room, I've walked this floor_

_I used to live alone before I knew you_

_I've seen your flag on the marble arch_

_Love is not a victory march_

_It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah_ , Rufus Wainwright

As Becky worked, Sam peeked over at Jake from time to time. He focused mainly on the monitor, like he was memorizing the sounds, the pictures. Sam saw him think, as he looked at the blues and reds and yellows that popped up on the screen.

"Can you roll over to your left side?" Becky had been sitting on her right side. The set up was a little untraditional, but it worked. Jake never let go as he stepped around to the other side of the table.

Sam planted her needle infested hand out of the way, above her head, and bent her knee enough to turn onto her side. Jake's touch on her back gave her momentum, even as his soft grip on her cotton clad hip helped her to feel safer in what her body told her was a dangerous position, though logically she knew better.

This time, there were no yucky bolsters to hold her in place, given by a CNA with a sympathetic smile. The nurses assumed then that she didn't have anyone. Sam had wanted it that way. She hadn't wanted them to know the truth. She didn't want them to know that she had had a whole boatload of people, but that her father hadn't wanted her, or them to be with her. 

Becky was soon done with her work.

Sam sat up, facing Jake, and began to peel the electrodes off of her body as Becky got her a damp towel to clean off the gel from her chest, neck, and stomach. Sam knew she looked like a melted candle anymore, bones and wax and wire. Her skin felt overstimulated, like her goosebumps were electrically charged, painful bumps.

Jake's warm brown eyes understood her tiredness in the poorly lit room. The lack of light lessened the pounding in her head as she tried to wipe away the gel. She felt like, in the darkness, that she could see him for the first time in forever.

"Here." Jake took the towel from her, and got the last bits of the substance off of her body. He was gentle, and took more time than was strictly needed. Sam wanted to cry, wanted to let her head fall forward and rest on his chest, wanted to feel his heart beat much like they had just heard the air on the echo. She missed him, and he was right there.

She couldn't say so, of course, because Becky was watching them.

The tech turned to a cupboard to get a clean gown for Sam. Sam hated the fresh, clean, rough, fabric on her skin. She hated the rolled seams, the piping on the arm bands, the heavy thickness of the ties. She hated the emotions that came along with cheap fabric. 

Sam's hand went to the flatness of Jake's waist, just for a reason to hold him a second longer. It was a wordless plea she knew he understood. She read it in his eyes, in the way he shifted.

She missed his warmth. She missed _him_. Jake stepped back, and Sam forced herself to swallow. He was moving away. 

He pulled the zipper of his hoodie down, and shucked it off to gently wrap it around her. Sam slid her right arm into easily, and then hit a wall. Sam wondered how they were going to make this work.

She missed her port, and hated that she had thrown a fit and insisted that they remove it before she went to Sue's. She had made a mistake in her foolishness. She wished that she could make it right. There was so much she could not fix, could not make right. That had been an angry impulse, and there had been no one there who cared about her enough or knew her well enough to stop her. 

Sue had signed the papers, assured that Sam had wanted it, never once calling her on her rashness, never once asking her to think. 

Sam hated herself for her rashness, and for the fact that, in the dark of the night, that she wished her family had been there to help her find reason. 

But no. 

Jake spoke into her ear, "They can thread it, if you ask." Sam wanted to lean forward, wrap herself about him. She just wanted to relax.

Sam heard a soft knock at the door, and saw Shelly slip into the room as Becky left to do whatever she needed to do with the footage of her heart. Jake's hoodie easily covered her body, leaving her more dressed than she had felt in days. "Would you help us to thread the bag?"

Jake's hoodie was warm from his body heat, and it smelled like him, and felt like him, and it was like a giant cotton hug. She wanted to get lost in it.

Shelly looked at the almost empty bag on her IV pole, and nodded. "Here's how we do this." She quickly helped Sam to carefully thread the bag through the large sleeve, and Sam soon found herself with an actual article of clothing on her body, and a functional IV. Jake seemed to be focusing on the process.

Sam just wanted to sleep. The pain was welling up inside of her, the ache that had started earlier growing to the point that it sought to consume her whole. 

She yawned as Jake pulled the zipper of the hoodie up. The metallic pull on the end was heavy as it rested above her chest, below her collarbone. She smiled at Jake. He was still standing in front of her. "I miss you." She whispered, her voice rough with pain, sickness, and emotion.

"I'm right here, Brat." He was as serious as she had ever known him to be. She knew he was right there. And yet, she missed him still. She was selfish, and it wasn't fair to him.

Still, Sam couldn't help but be more selfish. "You know I love you, right?"

It wasn't what she had tried to say. She had wanted to apologize. She couldn't say sorry, because sorry changed things, and she could not change this illness, or her need of him. She could not even bring herself to let go. It was selfish.

_She ain't shy, she's outspoken boy_

_She always speaks her mind except those quiet little moments_

_When I am all she needs and I hold her tenderly_

_She don't cry_

_Somehow she seems to keep it all inside until those magic little moments_

_When I am all she needs_

_And she gets sad sometimes_

_She'll never show it_

_And she ain't weak_

_My baby's just as strong as she can be_

_She Only Gets That Way With Me_ , Toby Keith

Jake's throat clogged.

He cleared his throat, and hoped that Shelly hadn't heard Sam's words. He had barely heard them.

She was so sick, and she was worried about him. Jake nodded, and pressed his lips gently to the spot between her eyes. Sam's eyes fluttered shut, and Jake hated the lone tear that slipped from the duct. He wiped it away with his thumb.

Jake completely ignored Shelly's admonition to let Sam stand and put her back in the chair. She was clearly half-asleep. Her hand fisted into his shirt as he set her down in the chair. He wanted to hold her, too. He planned to make that happen. It wouldn't be the first time he'd gently held her, hoping he wouldn't fall off the edge of a hospital bed.

Shelly never popped up much, beyond vital rounds, and anyway, Sam would be out in five minutes. If he had to move for her sake, he would.

Shelly got a blanket, and pressed it over Sam's lap. Sam mumbled something Jake didn't catch. He heard it when she tilted her head backwards to look up at him, "I hurt." It was a simple, toneless, statement of fact that broke his heart. She accepted pain as her reality. 

"I know, Brat. We'll fix it." He shared a look with Shelly. The nurse could run some pain meds. Sam had let the pain get ahead of her, and being up on that table hadn't helped to mitigate it. She had accepted pain meds over the course of her stay sporadically, but not enough of them, not regularly enough, and the pain had to be overwhelming.

"We'll get you back to your room, Sam, and get you your meds, okay?" Jake was walking down the short hallway, moving to get her out of the lights.

When they crossed into the room again, he shoved the light dimmer down. Sam did not even react.

Jake saw that Wyatt and Grace were there, as they had been every day. Grace was here more than Wyatt. She had only stayed home this morning because Sam had insisted she go to her women's group. Whatever they wanted to say in greeting died, as they watched Shelly.

She lowered the bed to its lowest setting. Jake knew the sound bothered Sam, but clearly, the CNAs hadn't put it back after they'd cleaned up the bed. Jake parked the chair, simply because he didn't want to rouse Sam more than was needed.

He gently slid his palms down her calves, telling her what they were doing without the words, asking for her agreement.

Shelly moved the oxygen and the bags from the IV, and Jake moved around the tubes. It was a well practiced move by now. This next step was something they'd done together a thousand times. "Sam?"

She looped a hand around him as his left hand went gently around her upper back, careful to support her head. His right hand slid around the back of her knees. "One." He picked her up. "Two." The slight pivot had to be jarring, because she tensed against him, weakly pulling herself closer to his body. Jake wanted this to be over quickly for her sake. Instead of counting, he felt her tense and said, "You're okay."

Sam's breathing hitched as Jake lowered her back to the bed, into the center of the clean sheets and the layers that would help her to shift. The hand that was under her knees slid up, to the middle of her back, keeping her steady, as her head met the pillows.

Shelly pulled up her blankets, and Sam grabbed at them with her left hand. Jake's realized with sudden clarity that she couldn't use her right hand because it was fisted in his T-shirt tightly. Sam's eyes shut, and her heart rate and other numbers were elevated from pain. Sam flinched when Shelly raised the side rail on the left side.

Moving quickly, she exited the room and came back with a syringe. Looking at the line, she softly said, "It's 11:42. 2mg of hydromorphone." She cleaned the line, and hooked up the bag.

Jake's eyes flitted quickly to her respiration numbers. It would need to be monitored. Finishing the process, Shelly pulled the wheelchair along with her after she put the disposables in the red waste bin.

"Hello." She greeted Grace and Wyatt. "I've just given her some pain meds that doctor ordered. She should sleep."

Jake turned his head quickly, having forgotten they were there. Grace stood, having taken the chair, and looked overwhelmed at the visage before her. "How much pain do you think she's in?"

Jake did the kind thing. He could not tell Grace that the dose they had given her was a fairly high amount of a Class II drug. He could not tell Grace that the pain was bad enough that her hospitalist felt it was worth it to risk her head injury and side effects. He could not tell Grace that Sam's grip, even in sleep, had not lessened and that her brow was only now starting to smooth out. "She hasn't said. She's managing her pain."

Grace accepted the words for what they were, and swallowed. "I brought you lunch." Jake saw the insulated lunch box on the counter, and knew that Grace was doing everything she possibly could to help Sam.

Jake felt Sam's grip on his shirt go slack. He smoothed out her fingers, and tucked it under the blankets. Stepping back was hard, but he did it, and slid the side rail into place, popping it upward. "Thanks, Grace."

_ishq bina kya marna yaaro ishq bina kya jina_

_(What is dying, without love? What is living, without love?)_

_niche ishq hai uupar rab hai in donon ke bich mein sab hai..._

_(Above is God; below is love; and between these two exists everything...)_

_ek nahin sab baatein kar lo sau baaton ka ek matlab hai_

_(Discuss not one thing, but everything; in the end, all discussions have but one meaning.)_

_Tears stream down your face_

_I promise you I will learn from my mistakes_

_Tears stream down your face_

_And I..._

_Ishq Bina/Fix You_ , Penn Masala

The hospitalist was back. This time, Jake hoped he had something worthwhile to say after giving all of this information. His manner was careful as he shuffled an iPad, and some papers.

Something bloomed on Wyatt's face as the man continued. Jake knew the older man was in way over his head. He hadn't even been keeping up with the conversation thus far, and Jake hated him for it.

He slowed them all down. Jake might actually have details he could work with if Wyatt wasn't slowing down the conversation and dumbing it down with ignorant, uninformed questions.

"Alright, folks." The doctor seemed to be amused by the crowd of people had around her. "We got back your echo results, Sam."

Sam clearly wasn't wasting words, as she gestured for him to continue. The doctor knew that well enough. "The results weren't what I'd hoped. We need to treat this more aggressively."

Jake's heart froze in his chest, from where he was perched on the edge of Sam's bed. Grace asked, "What do you mean? You said two days ago that the antibiotics were already aggressive enough."

Sam looked at him, and he knew what she had never voiced aloud.She wasn't any better.

The game was changing now. The meds she was on was holding her steady, but by a thread. "Mrs. Forster, what we need to do is be more specific. We've been treating this with the best we've got for what the cultures told us, but we need more information."

Sam spoke, then, slicing through the silence. She was awake, but barely. "A bronchoscopy?" She pushed the bed up more, a clear signal that she was having trouble breathing as it was.

The pulmonologist answered her affirmatively, "I'm confident that a bronchoscopy, and likely a biopsy will help us to help you get better. With this information, we can find the correct medications and get you home."

"A biopsy?" Wyatt asked, "With a needle, you mean?" It was a common question, but it set Jake's teeth on edge. What did he think a biopsy used, a glue stick? 

He would know the answer to these questions if he asked his daughter something once and a while. Sam expected this to happen, had done her best to prepare them. And yet, Wyatt sat here with her, treated her like she was stupid, and bolted the second he could.

"Yes, a fluorescent bronchoscopy often includes a biopsy. In Sam's case, the tissue samples will hopefully give us some definitive answers about how to treat her pneumonia." The doctor explained the process. The flexible tube would be threaded down into her lungs, and with the help of a small camera, the doctor would see the condition of her lungs and bring back samples to test, and treat her more correctly.

Wyatt looked uncertain. "Isn't there some other way that you could..." Jake knew that they had about exhausted their options, now that her heart was being stressed because of the infection. Jake wanted the details, but he wanted this settled more than he wanted to be informed about the results of the echo.

Sam cut him off, "I don't have a choice, Dad." She was tired, sick, and also clearly annoyed. She wasn't getting better, and she was sick, and angry, and tired. Her body was being ravaged by disease, and he wanted to take the long way around.

Jake wanted to punch something. 

"We're discussing it." Wyatt said, trying his darnedest to make Sam feel as though he had the final say over her body.

Jake knew he had ice in his veins, for he was not willing to even consider cutting Wyatt slack, or giving him a shred of the benefit of the doubt. If he denied her this biopsy, Jake knew that no court in the state would let it stand. Jake knew that the doctor would go to his administrators with the situation. Jake missed Sue, because she never butted in with Sam's medical treatments, not once.

The doctor spoke, "What can I do to help you make an informed choice with your child?" The question was one he often spouted, most likely. Jake heard the careful phrasing, the open invitation to help him find ways to be useful to Wyatt. He also heard the doctor implore Wyatt to consider Sam's wishes.

Grace answered for her son, "I think my son would like to understand the risks involved, Doctor."

"What risks, Dad?" Sam asked. She began to rattle off a common list. Obviously, the education at the rehab had done much to prepare her for the effects that the accident could have. She remembered well the things Kyla's colleagues had taught her, taught them both, to look out for. "Pain and coughing? Or do you mean hypoxia?" Sam defined the term, "Reduced oxygen."

She flicked a glance at the tubing, "Or do you mean bleeding or a lung leak? Because, you know, I've already hit five of the six." Sam spoke her piece, and Jake watched the blood drain from her father and grandmother's faces.

"Is she right?" Wyatt looked at the doctor, who was clearly hiding approval for Sam in his gaze.

"Spot on." The doctor agreed reluctantly, "There are risks for this process, but we will do all we can to monitor her condition, and to keep you informed."

Wyatt nodded slowly, "Where are the forms?" He took the clipboard from the doctor, and began to mark them with his initials. Grace looked relieved.

Like any decent medial professional, the doctor looked again at Sam. "This is something you're also consenting to undergoing? We'll give you a sedative, and you may experience a stronger sore throat and numbness."

Sam and Jake shared a glance. It was the best shot they had, and he promised internally not to photograph her as a drooling mess like Quinn had when she got dental work done. "Yes. You can do this, but if you do me a favor." Sam reached for her water, and Jake passed it to her.

She sipped it carefully. The doctor replied, "Yes?"

Sam's eyes dimmed for a second, and Jake wondered what she was going to say. It was obviously a choice that she felt was best, even if it didn't make her happy. "I'd like somebody to put my central line back in." Her eyes drifted shut for a long second, and her heart rate went up slightly, "I should have never had it taken out."

The doctor made some notes on his iPad, as Sam spoke, her voice rough, He crossed the room, and asked Sam to push aside the top of her hoodie. He saw something in the marks on her body that Jake never had, "Port-a-Cath, then?"

Sam replied, "Yes." Jake hadn't known that, and he found himself looking at the smallish scars on her chest. His lips had brushed over that scar a thousand times, and he had never stopped to ask her what it meant to her.

Formerly underneath that scar, there had been a small titanium backed port that had lessened the stress on her veins. Her hand was messed up from the last few days, and he saw the sense in what she was saying. "You could put me under, stick the port in, do the biopsy, and be done with it all."

The doctor looked at Sam's face, and considered his words, "A PICC might also be an option. You don't need to be out for the biopsy. We do typically offer sedation. But back to the port. Why not a PICC?"

Sam shook her head, "I like to shower." She coughed, into the sleeve of the hoodie. Jake shifted closer to her, from where he was sitting on the side of the bed. "What about an arm port?"

The doctor tilted his head, his dark brown glasses becoming angled. "Hm. Less chance of infection, but more tunneling and less punctures are available to you before it'd need replacing." He caught himself, "I'm not saying I agree. We can discuss your case with your doctors, I'll get back to you."

Sam leaned against the bed, in its sitting position. Jake pressed a cup of water into her hands. He was less worried about dehydration but her throat was no doubt killing her. Her voice was thready and almost gone. Sam patted the hand that Jake hadn't even realized was on her leg. She wanted his attention more fully, "Matrona has one. I was always jealous."

Sam shut her eyes, then, and Jake understood that she was done for now.

The doctor turned back to Wyatt. As Sam's breathing evened out, he made his excuses and left the room.

Jake followed Grace and Wyatt out to the empty family area for a moment. Sam needed her sleep and Jake wanted coffee.

As Jake made his coffee in the small pot, the others sat down. Wyatt stood, and sat back down again. He finally spoke, "What do you think?"

"It's Sam's choice." Jake pointed out, measuring the grounds and putting them in the machine. He put the water in the pot from the nearby cooler. He wanted Wyatt to know that this was Sam's body, and her body was governed by her choices, and her choices alone.

Jake heard the jibe in Wyatt's tone, saw it in the set of his angular face.

"I've never known you to keep your mouth closed about what you think is best for her." Wyatt allowed, as Jake sat down to watch the coffee boil.

"We don't have a choice about the biopsy, Wyatt. She wants to come home." Coming home wasn't the point here. Getting better was. They needed to treat this quickly, if her heart was becoming involved and the infections she already had were getting worse. She had bitten clean through her lip screaming one night from the nightmares the high powered medications gave her, and panic attacks were always around  the corner. However, if she got a better course of treatment, and a port, there was no reason that Dad couldn't oversee her treatment.

She wanted to come home, and they needed to make that happen for her sake, because she herself was working towards that goal. He would not let people stand against her.

"And because she wants it, she's going to get it, no matter if it would be better, safer, for her to be here until she's better?" Wyatt said, harshly. He looked scared and angry. Jake didn't care. 

Wyatt was wrong. 

That wasn't how it worked. Hospitals did not want to keep people. They wanted people out of their doors the second it was medically sound to ship them off. Jake knew that doing these things now would give her the best shot of actually staying out of a hospital.

And furthermore, he did not give Sam whatever she wanted, whatever she asked for, like she was some kind of little girl who made stupid, silly, absurd demands. All she ever asked for was consideration and respect. She asked for the things that were her due. The fact that she had to ask for things that were her right said to Jake that Wyatt was… 

Grace sighed, "Wyatt. You're going to disturb the nurses." Of course Grace would never publicly contradict Wyatt, no matter how much she wanted to do it. Her gaze was full of sympathy and Jake knew that she wasn't on her son's side in this little temper tantrum.

"You mean it would be better for you." Jake replied, unable to hold back despite his better judgement. Wyatt, again, had no right. He did not sit here day after night after day watching her suffer and work so hard to take care of the people she loved. Wyatt, if Sam were here longer, would not have to worry so much. Why did he completely ignore how hard this whole stay was on his own mother, if he did not care about Sam?

"You give her her way against good sense." Wyatt's whole bearing was tightly wound and threadbare. "Stop filling both your heads with empty promises and..."

It was Grace who spoke, then. "We're going home now, Wyatt. We're going home, before you both say something more you will regret twenty minutes from now. You both have done so much to learn from..." She clutched her bag, and looked at her son. "We'll talk in the car."

Jake stood as they did, finding it odd that she thought of home as any other place but here, for now. Grace shifted. She was so sad, so tired.

"Wyatt." Jake spoke, carefully considering his words. He did not want to ruin the growth between Sam and Wyatt, nor the efforts between him and Wyatt, but he could not let this slide, no matter how Grace seemed to want him to do it.

"I don't make empty promises. Neither does Sam. When she says she'll do this, you need to trust that she will." It was important to him that Wyatt knew this.

Wyatt understood what he did not say. So did Grace. He made a declaration in the middle of an empty hospital waiting room, with a man he'd idolized melting before him. Sam might be his daughter, he might have the final say now, but he wouldn't always have that say, and Wyatt needed to protect the work that Sam and he had done.

Grace smiled good night, and offered once again to stay. There was no need. Sam was out for the night. Today had been a trying day. "But maybe that's what scares you." Jake said, softly, as he watched them walk away, and he waited for the cheap, acidic coffee to heat.

_This room could not hold me for one short minute;_

_If you weren't here with me, I'd soon be gone._

_That chair is just a chair when you're not in it._

_It takes more than rooms and chairs to make a home._

_Home is Where You're Happy_ , Willie Nelson

Sam looked squarely at the doctor, answering the questions he sent to her and Dad as he examined her. "You find the drugs...and Luke can take care of the details. I can go home." Sam was satisfied with the plan.

Dad had agreed to it. That was a weight off of her mind. She felt better, somehow, in just knowing that this was going to be over. 

The doctor continued his examination, and prompted her. "Typically, we only let people go home with visiting nurse care to teach people how to run and care for their ports and their pumps." Sam breathed when he instructed her to do so.

"I've told you I don't need them." Sam insisted. She did not want those people in her house. She had not signed up for another roll of the nursing dice. Some would be great, like Regina, but another Claw, sucking up all of the energy at the ranch, would be unbearable. She didn't have to take that, and even the risk was not something she was willing to attempt.

Sam coughed, and shot a look at her father when she stopped. Her demand was wordless. _Tell him!_

Dad did as she bid, and unfolded his fingers from where he had steepled them. "Luke Ely agreed to see to them." He probably figured he had said enough. Why did they have to make things so challenging?

"He didn't mention how you were related." How did this man know him? Sam did not know, but they had chatted, well, as much as Luke did such things, when he'd visited. Sam knew that it was a reasonable question that she detected in the question in the doctor's voice, but she didn't have a reasonable answer.

He had helped to raise her, but she had her very own father, as troubled as their relationship had been. Her father had a special place in her heart that no one would ever touch. No one would ever be her Dad, but her Dad, be that good or evil.

Still, Luke had been a parent to her. He had taught her to fish one summer, how to see the beauty in a sunrise, enough about Jesus with Grandpa to make her way. He had treated her like one of his own. He had wiped tears, and runny noses, and tied shoelaces. He had made the boys be nice, and always let her have her say when countless other voices might have silenced her.

He was her neighbor, and he taught her about hay and alfalfa, and how to fix a tractor. He did the neighborly things, and asked after the horses and the cattle, often trying to teach her something along the way. He was a paramedic, and he had long looked over bumps and bruises that didn't require a doctor.

He was also Jake's father. And Jake was, for lack of a better term, her life partner. But she could not say any of those things to this doctor. She could not explain how mixed up they could be, really. It wouldn't make sense to anyone, even if it make perfect sense to her.

Her family was a crazy mixed up bunch, but they were bound by their history, and by the love that sustained them through the times that they did not much like each other. "He's family."

The doctor stepped back. "But do you live with him?"

Again with the hard questions. Yes, but no, but yes. What was she to say?

She spent a lot of time at Three Ponies. It was normal for her, but she couldn't say that to this doctor. He wouldn't get it. Well, she would tell him if it weren't for Dad, sitting right there. Anything she said would bind her. If she said no, the doctor might not let her go home, and if she said, yes, that would be kind of a lie, and Dad would not be pleased. He had been fine with San Francisco, but he wasn't quite so happy anymore with her being at Three Ponies overnight. Sam did not know what to say.

Dad spoke up, explaining that Luke was, in fact, qualified, though the doctor knew this. He added, "Whatever she needs can be arranged." He stressed the 'needs' and Sam got the idea that she wasn't to push her luck. Sam bit back a grin. He was coming through on this, and Sam wondered what had been done to change his tune. Gram probably. Gram did things like that.

The doctor considered his words. "I'll need to speak to him, and you'll have to talk to a nurse educator, but we can see what can be done." Sam breathed out, as he finished up the check, the door clicking behind him. For the first time in a few days, Sam felt a bloom of hope in her heart.

This time, as she looked at her father, it wasn't all about going home. Well, it was, but not in a literal sense.

_If I was the woman and you were the man,_

_Would I laugh if you came to me with your heart in your hand_

_And said, "I offer you this freely, and will give you all that I can_

_Because you are the woman, and I am the man?"_

_If You Were The Woman And I Was The Ma_ n, Cowboy Junkies ft. John Prine

Jake's hands wound his coffee cup, and he walked through the more public parts of the regional hospital. These halls were relatively slow for a Tuesday morning. Jake felt a little grungy, but he did not care. He knew what he was, what the nurses saw when he passed a registration desk, a family member who couldn't bear the silence of the waiting room. 

He watched a couple drift past, watched the man lug a bag after his heavily pregnant wife. It blew his mind that there could be such joy in the same spaces that there was such suffering.

Death and dying coexisted right next to celebrations of new life. 

His conversation with Wyatt rang in his head. "She needs us both." Jake had said, "We're good."

The question had come out as a statement as they stood again in the waiting room. They all needed each other. Jake shook his head, and sipped his coffee, trying to forget look that had crossed Wyatt's face.

He didn't know if he meant it. But he was beyond caring what his words to meant to Wyatt. He was tired of hating the man, tired of having his focus broken by the rage in his soul.   


Jake let the hallways soak into his blood, forced himself to walk. He had to keep moving or he was going to scream. Good or not, he could not sit there with Wyatt, could not sit there with the family, and let his vulnerability show. He could not get information any faster by sitting there.

The damn doctor wouldn't talk to him anyway.

Jake walked past the same painting five times. He walked. He walked, and walked, and walked. 

Finally, there was nowhere left to go, so he sat, let his legs splay outward, watched as some old people were wheeled by him, and he pulled his feet back towards his body.

Jake felt a heavy weight in his shoulders. They were putting in the port in, now. Somehow, Sam had gotten her way. It had just worked out that way. Jake wondered if she was giving in to this or admitting that they did not know what the future held in getting the port back in. There was a difference, he knew.

He held fast to that difference. The port was a backup. She would be better soon, and the port would languish under her skin, useless, for a few years, until today was a mere blip on their radar.

Dad came around the corner, and came to a stop before Jake, "Come on, and let's find me some coffee."

Jake pushed heavily to his feet, and fell into step beside his father. He knew that his father had come to find him. Dad often worked here. He knew his way around the place better than Jake did. They walked in silence until started to get that look on his face. Jake knew he wanted to talk.

When they had finally passed a few people in the hall, Dad filled the silence that had been rolling around in Jake's ears forever, "I don't want to add fuel to a fire, but what did you say to Wyatt the other night?"

He had simply pulled Wyatt aside and made sure that they were good before they were both in Sam's room. They had been avoiding each other, but they needed to come together for Sam's sake. The older man had nodded carefully. They were making progress, because four months ago, that conversation wouldn't have been possible. Sam didn't need the tension, or the stress, not that she would have noticed it, once they dosed her with the Versed.

She had giggled and blushed beet red, finding humor in the most mundane things.

The weave on her blanket made her chortle, and anything anyone said was funny. Jake was glad that she was too sick to be too chatty, because occasionally, her chatty moods were punctuated by a frank discussion of sex, at least when they were alone, and Jake held his breath a few times because she was so chatty and giggly.

Jake figured that, no matter how hard Wyatt tried, he could not easily handle seeing that side of Sam without any filter when she was drugged off her ass. The things she sometimes frankly admitted, without one ounce of pretension, would likely make anyone uneasy. It made him uneasy, sometimes.

She liked the truth. Frankly, he knew that she wouldn't want to say anything like that to anyone. For as much as she liked the truth, there were some times that she kept it solely to herself.

He hoped that Wyatt had been completely out of the room when Sam blurted that she had fantasies about his college sweatshirt, and that she liked the way it felt against her skin. He'd known, of course, but it had been somewhat odd to hear her say it like it was some great secret, complete with the shushing, the hoarse whispering, and the giggles. It was also rather odd to be told he was very pretty. He liked hearing her intone very seriously, her eyes wide and guileless, that she loved him. He liked that a lot, even though a chatty Sam freaked him out.

Jake shrugged, his sweater shifting over his skin as he did so. His footfalls were heavy, as heavy as his heart. "Nothing." He hadn't really said anything, not really.

"Jake." Dad said, correcting him. Jake stepped ahead of his father to pull open a wide door. He stepped through and held it enough for his father to grab the door behind him.

"This has nothing to do with him, or with me." Jake didn't get Wyatt was still so uneasy with Sam, with him. "He needs to focus on Sam."

"You don't think he's trying." Dad summarized, as he walked down a hallway. They were heading towards the main artery of the hospital. The noises of life were getting louder, the calls over the system louder and more insistent because of the extra speakers.

"She's so sick but she's worried about us." Jake's heart raced. The nurse today had been working on sedating her for the surgery, and her last coherent statement had been something about everybody getting lunch while she was out. "He needs to be just as focused on her."

They were in the cafeteria when Dad finally spoke. They were two people not given to many words. A real conversation sometimes took days. "He's scared." Dad carried his own coffee to the table, and Jake found it odd to follow him to a table in the back of the room. Normally, he could not choose a table so boxed in by other tables, not that he wanted to do so.

"Yes." Jake agreed. Who wasn't? His coffee shook in his hands. They could lose her. Jake blew out another breath, "He doesn't need to treat her like she's stupid."

"The hardest part of being a parent is letting go." Dad looked at him intently, his eyes peering into his bones for a fleeting second. His father said little for a man who saw so much. "If he calls the shots, Buddy, then he can blame himself for the outcome. But if he lets go, and trusts her without question, he admits to himself that he's powerless and that he can't protect her anymore."

Jake thought over his father's words. "She doesn't need him to protect her." She needed her father to support her choices, to love her for the person she was, and would become. She needed to know her father was in her corner, and not devoted some other woman.

Dad popped the top on his steaming black coffee, and took a sip. Blandly, Dad put down the coffee cup. "When I said that to PopPop, he came after me with a Smith and Wesson he kept in that big cookie jar on the hutch." Jake's eyes went wide, not expecting this story. Dad continued, "I wish your mom had kept that when he died."

Jake did not know what to say. Dad continued, "PopPop didn't like the idea of me much." He picked up his cup again.

"That has nothing to do with anything." Jake replied. What did Dad's drama with PopPop 40 years ago have to do with this, with anything. "I..." Jake did not even know what his father's point was, at the end of this. He had a headache. This was not the time for a trip down memory lane. They needed to get upstairs. "What?"

Dad stood, and they headed towards the trashcans, "It's hard to let go, is all."

Jake pitched his cup, and walked towards the door, following his father, feeling like he was tripping on acid. "What did you say to PopPop?"

"I reminded him that your mother didn't really need him to make her choices for her because she wasn't a little girl." Dad pushed the elevator button, and they stepped inside a car that had been sitting there. Jake punched the correct floor.

When the door slid shut, Dad added, "He told me later that he already knew. He just couldn't take hearing it from me."

_It hit me just like a ton of bricks, yes my heart burst_

_Now I know what life's about_

_One little touch and love's knocked me out_

_I can hear the bells, my head is spinning_

_I can hear the bells, something's beginning_

_I Can Hear the Bells_ , Nikki Blonksy

Sam's eyes fluttered over her face. Her head hurt like hell, and she felt like crying.

Sleep pulled her under, and she floated in and out of some level of fuzzy awareness. She felt people moving, but did not want to wake up. She heard voices buzzing above her. She slept, feeling heavy, weighted, and exhausted, as though she could sleep for days and days and days.

Sam slept. She woke slowly, feeling very aching and cold to her bones. The room was dry and freezing. She had one hell of a hangover, or what she thought a hangover would feel like.

She was so cold, and so thirsty. She made some kind of strangled sound. She felt so alone. What was going on? Sam tried to force her eyes open, and did, feeling crusty and awful.

Sam's head spun as she looked upwards. The nurse that had put her to sleep was leaning over her. "Sam?"

Sam blinked. Even blinking hurt. She was groggy, and the room was spinning, and her mouth felt like the desert. "Wa.." she tried again, "Water." She meant to keep her eyes open, but they were so heavy. They were so heavy. Her throat hurt. Her lungs hurt. "Cold."

"No, Sam." The woman insisted, too loudly, "I can get you another blanket, but not water."

Sam didn't want to stay. It was so warm, so warm, and this room was so cold. The cold was seeping into her bones, and she just wanted to sleep. Her eyes shut. Pain rushed through her like a knife, pain, pain, pain, and she wanted to throw up.

She couldn't breathe. She _couldn't_. Sam reached blindly for the buttons, and tried to make the bed go up. She hit the feet button instead, and felt her stomach roll. "Sam!"

The nurse helped her to put the head of the bed up a small amount, and asked her for her name. Sam coughed, and muttered, "You..." Her throat hurt so very badly. Sam remembered that she'd just had a biopsy, very slowly. "...keep saying it."

She looked around. The room was empty save her and the nurse. She was back in her room. She didn't remember any of the OR. She didn't even remember the recovery room. "Where's my fam-ily?"

"You family is on its way, Sam." The nurse replied. "Marla went to get them." Sam smiled, and floated back to sleep. She had a crazy family, but in the end, they cared about each other, and that's what made them a family.

Sam took stock of her physical sensation. She was sick, and groggy, and there was a white bandage on the fleshy part of her arm, on the inside. It was taped down, and the bandage was starkly white. Sam felt floaty. She opened her eyes, and watched as the door opened. The movement hurt her ears, and her eyes.

Her father was there, and Gram. It sunk into her awareness like a warm blanket. She didn't like waking up alone.

Dad's hand was warm on her forehead, "Hey, Tumbleweed." Gram was there, too. Sam tried to look at her, but couldn't see all that much beyond her father. She felt so warm. It wasn't a painful warmth this time.

Sam breathed, and it hurt. She lifted her tired arm, a little. The incision didn't hurt all that much. Her lungs hurt worse than her arm. "They could clone me." She licked her chapped lips, glad that the stitches in her lip had healed. She had been crazy worried about her face, no matter what Gram had promised. The bumps were almost gone.

"One Sam in the world is plenty." Dad said. Sam smiled. She knew what that meant, at least.

"Yeah..." She mumbled, tiredly, "But I'm bionic, now." Sam smiled, again, thinking that the idea of her being bionic rather than broken was funny. The chair could be her go-go-Gadget car thing. Or maybe like that coffee and cocoa sleigh in that one Christmas movie. She was so thirsty. Or like that spy girl who had that best friend with that strange pet. The ceiling had grey dots in it. Sam saw one that was shaped like a figure eight diagram.

Sam tilted her head to her left, expecting to see Jake sitting there. He was always quiet, and she felt him there, right underneath her heart, right next to her side. They had knocked her out during the procedure, and gotten both things done. She was glad, otherwise she would have been awake during the biopsy. She hated needles.

She couldn't not cough, she couldn't not breathe. Sam reached her hand out, palm up. Her hand didn't brush against a warm, solid, Jake. There was nothing but empty air. It felt thick. "I'm trippin'" Sam slurred.

Gram chuckled. Sam pushed the bed up more, hating the roll of her stomach, and the scowl of the nurse. Sam closed her eyes, and opened them quickly.

No Jake.

Again.

Jake? Nope. 

That was her brain. Had he left? Where was he? Had something happened to him?

Again. Jake? No. 

The nurse was looking at her carefully.

Gram asked, "Sammy?"

"I keep thinking that..." She coughed, and her lungs burned. It knocked whatever air she could get out of her. She had breathed too deeply, and it hurt.

"If I just open my eyes that..." Sam didn't need to finish her sentence, because the next time she blinked, it was a moot point.

Jake was there. Who knew?

A family was people, and a family was love, and that's all that mattered. That strange purple dude had been right. If only she could remember his name.

 

_Gettin' me back together, didn't know it could be so hard,_

_But if I'm ever gonna mend this broken heart..._

_You look like a real good place to start_

_I need a new beginning, and you fit right in_

_Sometimes a new beginning is found in an old friend_

_If I'm ever gonna mend this broken heart..._

_You look like a real good place to start_

_A Real Good Place to Start_ , George Strait

The air was warmer. The sunlight had shifted. Sam tilted her head up to the sky. She felt paler than usual, felt the warming sun upon her skin and in her hair. She drank it up like a sun-starved flower. Her eyes slammed shut under the weak brightness, but she enjoyed it all the same.

Dad brought the truck to a stop, and Sam tugged on the hemline that was laying flat over her knees, ignoring the backpack she saw sitting next to her wheel. The bug out bag had served them well. The sweater that covered her t-shirt met the skirt in her middle as she fumbled with the wheelchair. Sam looked up at Jake, and whispered, "Home?"

Jake grinned.

It was different this time. The last time she'd left the hospital, she'd come out into a world she didn't understand, a broken, lonely world, with no one beside her but an uncomfortable, not very familiar aunt.

Sam had come to see, in the day and a half since the biopsy came back and they found the right medication, that the very thing that had cut her off from the things that mattered had brought them back a second time.

She hugged the pillow that had been sitting on the seat, in anticipation, tired though she was. She and Gram had really had a lot of time to talk, a lot of time to just sit together, in the never ending moments of the hospital stay. She had lost so much, but in the loss, there were things to be found, things that had been refashioned, reborn, in new ways. It didn't negate her loss or their sadness, but the world took on meanings she still struggled to understand.

She couldn't explain it, but somehow, this time at the hospital had brought her family back together in a new way. She felt it. She didn't understand why the accident would rip them apart, and a simple case of pneumonia would force them to work together and find a way to live and see the better in each other, but they had. Dad and Luke were talking freely again. Jake and Dad...well, they would never be what they were, but...it was better. Somehow. Sam knew that she would do this all over again, a thousand times, just to feel as she did in this moment.

_They took my saddle in Houston, broke my leg in Santa Fe_

_I lost my wife and a girlfriend, somewhere along the way_

_But I'll be lookin' for 8 when they pull that gate and I hope that judge ain't blind_

_Amarillo by morning, up from San Antone_

_Everything that I got is just what I've got on_

_I ain't got a dime but what I got is mine_

_I ain't rich, but Lord, I'm free_

_Amarillo by Morning,_ George Strait


	2. Breakfast in Hell

#  _I know I dreamed you a sin and a lie I have my freedom but I don't have much time_

#  _Faith has been broken, tears must be cried_

_Let's do some living after we die_

_Wild horses couldn't drag me away_

_Wild, wild horses, we'll ride them some day_

_Wild Horses_ , The Rolling Stones

Sam turned the page in the book, and frowned at the notes she had made in the notebook on her desk. She was searching for just one more thing to say. She did not want to talk to Dad about this last hidden item, but she really had no choice.

The Universe wasn't giving her one, either, as they had run down everything on the to-do list for today, save for the most important item, the very item she had not written down. "And, uh..."

Sam had made up her mind. It had taken a long time, made her ache inside, but she had done it.

The words tasted like pepper and lead on the roof of her mouth, like she had been using envelope adhesive as a salt lick. The words were so heavy. There would be no going back from this moment.

In a flurry of second-guessing herself, Sam wanted to be selfish. She opened her mouth again, "I..." But this wasn't about her. This wasn't about what she really wanted. It was about more important things.

This was not about her. 

Dad motioned for her continue, his lanky frame on the edge of her comfy chair. They had been having impromptu meetings for a long time, since Sam had been more able to take on a bigger share of responsibility.

It had not really changed since she'd been back, at least in the office.

The comfort and the sameness of these moments made what she was about to say seem insane. 

She spun her office chair around to face him, now that they no longer needed the computer to add to Gram's books. Gram was exacting about her books, and nobody bought so much as a bit of twine or a stick of gum without logging it in her detailed system.

"About the drive..." This truth was hurting her, flaying her open. She blurted the words, weighing what she wanted to say carefully. 

She had no other choice.

She knew the limitations of her body.

She would not slow everyone down.

She could not care for her own tack, for example. She tried, but with this open port in her arm most of the time, she could barely lift her schoolbooks without somebody hooting about a weight restriction.

She could not be what she needed to be for the ranch. She just didn't have the endurance or the forbearance.

Knowing that in her own mind was a shortcoming. Admitting that outside her own mind was a failing. 

"I'm not going." She had made this choice over the last few days, and she understood it for what it was. It was a heavily made choice, one borne of adult obligations and realizations, and not the dreams that pushed her forward. There would be other drives, and next time, she would be able to pull her weight.

"Can I ask why?" Dad, oddly enough, seemed accepting, relieved, in a way that would have made Sam pause if she hadn't been happy enough not to have to convince him about it.

Sam clicked the pen in her hands before she snapped it in half.

 _Click. Click. Click. Clickclickclick._  She was telling him this so he wouldn't tell her that she could not go. It was inevitable, and it was something she could not bear to hear.

 _Stop_ , she thought, _stop_.  _Don't do this to yourself!_

But she could not stop thinking the thoughts that had brought her to this very moment.

There was no way. She could not lug a pump all the way out into the range and hope and pray nothing went wrong. Not even Luke was that kind of miracle worker, and Sam wasn't going to make work where there didn't need to be any created. They all had their jobs, jobs that required them to focus on the best choices for each other, and for the ranch.

Today, in this moment, she needed to stand down.

Standing down was her job, now.

Sam clung to her reasoning, her excuses. She refused to say that she was weak and unfit. She would sooner die than admit that to her father's face. He would not hesitate to pull the rug out from under her feet if she so much as hinted that he was, at the core of it all, correct.

She held to her justifications, and hoped he would not point them out for the lies they were. "I just...think someone needs to be here. It's a lot of work for Max, you know, to mind the chickens while we're all gone." Sam lied through her teeth. Max was fine with watering a few plants and caring for the chickens. It was hardly difficult for her. The place was pretty much desolate, and there wasn't all that much to do. "And..and...and.."

"Sammy." Dad broke into her rambling. He shook his head softly.

It was then that Sam realized that there were tears in her eyes. It was too hard, sometimes, being a big girl, and making choices for the benefit of the land and the cattle and her family. "If you want to go..."

Sam blinked once, banishing her emotions, hiding them behind a mask. How dare he dangle that impossibility in front of her like this? 

She wanted to go along, of course she did. Going had been a goal for months, had been the very reason that she had pushed her limits all winter to build up her stamina and her skill set. She hadn't failed. She had done it, but she hadn't done enough.

She swallowed. "It's the best choice." Her spring break had always been spent in the saddle. She had grown up looking forward to it, looking forward to the drives that gave a melody, a rhythm, to her life.

Dad had a funny expression on his face.

Sam tried to move along stridently, "But..." She breathed in and let go, let go of it all, "It doesn't mean there's less to do."

She gestured to her list, faking a brisk ease she did not feel. "What's next?"

"Alright." Dad conceded the point, "I assume you can oversee the rest of the list, then?" Sam looked down at the things left to do. They were little things, the initial checks, some ordering of extra supplies, digging parts of kits out of closets. However, they were valuable and needful tasks, irksome as they were.

Sam tried to find solace in the list. 

Sam looked up from the list, and said, "Sure." She would sort and wash and pack and order things. It was mundane, but somebody had to do it.

Dad stood, and reminded her, "There's more to being a good rancher than cattle drives, honey."

Ranching was as much a business as anything else, he had taken to saying lately. Sam figured that that was a cop-out. She wasn't some girl who'd married into this way of life, or some man who'd had more money than sense. Being a hands-on rancher was in her blood, was a piece of her soul, and nothing anyone said would change that fact. 

Nobody said that and meant it, especially not her father, who had very little business acumen and was more than happy enough to leave any hint of that to his teenage daughter and elderly mother.

Sam also knew that the work didn't end, not by half, when they clambered, dusty and saddle worn, into the yard.

She could, she would, help then.

Sam tried to take his words to heart when she went back to finishing her extra school lessons for the day. It was pointless, now, but she kept on keeping on. She had planned to be done with the units early, the day before the cattle drive, so as to be able to devote herself to doing what she needed to do.

There was no reason to change that, now.

_But I'm holding on for dear life, won't look down, won't open my eyes_

_Keep my glass full until morning light, 'cause I'm just holding on for tonight_

_Help me, I'm holding on for dear life, won't look down, won't open my eyes_

_Keep my glass full until morning light, 'cause I'm just holding on for tonight_

_On for tonight_

_Sun is up, I'm a mess_

_Gotta get out now, gotta run from this_

_Here comes the shame, here comes the shame_

_Chandelier_ , Sia

Quinn tossed the roller at him. Thankfully, it was nearly dry. Jake dodged it, and continued painting. There was no use whining about how this flip was taking forever. It would have to sit until they were back, until everybody was sorted for the summer, to be finished.

Thank God they didn't have to heat the place.

Jake heard a truck pull into the driveway. This little road wasn't busy. There was nothing back here but brush and a really great view of the sunrise. The gravel crunched.

Quinn perked up, "I hope Darrell brought food."

Jake jumped at the excuse to set down a roller, and left the room, heading towards the door. He felt antsy and alone. It was not a good day for him, emotionally. 

Something foreboding and icy speared Jake in the heart as he went to the front door.

It was Wyatt approaching him, not Darrell. "Wyatt?" Jake closed the door behind him, and stepped down towards him quickly.

"Got a second?" Wyatt asked for a word, a hesitant and tense expression his face.

Jake fumbled with his phone quickly, almost dropping it. He hoped Sam had not fallen. She had taken to buttering up Dallas to tack her horses for her, and help her up. She stayed in the pasture, and the rings, but it made him nervous. She simply allowed Dallas to come with her when he voiced concerns. She said he was teaching her about ranch management.

Jake had no doubt that was true. 

His phone was blank.

He barely had reception, but there were no notifications. Jake followed the older man, hating the knowing look on his face. If he knew Jake was worried about Sam, why wouldn't he simply say that she was okay? The fact that he didn't...

"Jake..." Wyatt began, when they were standing under the small portico on the side of the house. He had wanted to rip it down, but other voices had prevailed over his, and the carport had been repaired.

"Sam's told me that she isn't going on the drive." Wyatt said, and Jake hated himself for the profound sense of relief that rushed through him. She wanted to go, but he was happy, somehow, in some ways, that she wasn't going.

It wasn't worth the risk.

Nothing ever would be.

Jake was taken aback, though, that she had made this choice, for herself, without one word from anybody, without even so much as an ounce of discussion. He thought that this would cause another fight with her father. It was clear that Sam was holding to her word, holding to the assertion that she was done fighting with her father, if she could possibly help it.  She didn't want to waste time fighting. "I didn't know."

Sam had danced around the topic, but had never told him flat out. There hadn't really needed to be words. He clearly was shifting the projection of the conversation he'd made up on the drive out here. His words continued before his brain caught up to what Jake had said, "I came out here to thank you for..."

He'd had no part of this. Jake cut him off, "She knows what's best for her, Wyatt, and she makes those choices for herself. She doesn't need anybody to figure that out." Jake watched as a bug scuttled across the concrete squares.

Wyatt just went on, utterly deluded and ignoring him. "I was happy, when we found out that she was a girl, you know. She thinks, for some reason, that she should have been a boy."

What? Did she really? She had always fit right in with their ragtag band of brothers.

The idea put Jake off strongly, until he realized that all it would meant for them was a different label on their relationship, maybe, and some different mechanics. It wasn't that off-putting, in theory, though in actuality, the idea of some kind of genderswap on Sam's end wasn't something he'd ever considered, or wanted to consider.

As long as she was her. But, would she still be her, if she wasn't a woman, wasn't the person who could do this, could walk away from something she loved for a greater vision and a grander purpose? 

"My father loved her, but he never thought she could be much of a rancher. It was different in those days, I guess. But the old man was wrong. I wish he was here to see it." Wyatt tilted his head in a way that was so much like Sam's thinking pose, "She put the ranch first, today."

Jake suddenly so very enraged, and so very tired of being so damn angry. The duality of the rush of rage and the disappointment at feeling this old emotion again hit him hard. He could not keep the frustration out of his voice, "She's been doing that for months, Wyatt." Jake tried, and failed, again, to make Wyatt use his eyes for once in his life. Sam had been putting that ranch first in her life since she had understood what it meant to her, and to those she loved.

Wyatt just kept on talking. This was the strangest conversation they'd ever had. Jake fought the urge to punch him, make him bleed from his stupid, blathering, mouth. Jake saw it in his mind, the splattering of blood, the crunch of knuckles against the vulnerable parts of the face, the blessed silence that would follow.  

That was all in his mind. In reality, Wyatt was incandescent over something that should make him mourn. His daughter had let go of the last vestiges of her youth, the last vestiges of her desires, to do what she thought was right. Wyatt should mourn the transformation Sam had made, because in this moment, there was nothing left about her that was immature.

Wyatt knew nothing. "Hardest thing I've ever seen that girl do, but she did it."

Jake's teeth clattered together. 

"Telling you she wasn't going on the drive was really the hardest thing you've seen her face down?" Jake shook his head, and tore a page from Sam's playback. It was better to just let it go. He knew nothing, and never would. He would never know of those moments that Sam's strength had shown through, emanating from the marrow in her bones. 

After a second, he realized how much he pitied Wyatt. "Forget it. What can I do for you?"

Wyatt paused, for a second, as the sun shone brightly above them, making the carport bright and warm in the early spring. "Do you know how to get in touch with that friend of hers, the one that calls on Skype?"

"Matrona?" Jake clarified. Sam and Matrona spoke pretty frequently on the Skype. There was a lot of laughing and teasing and loudness, so he tended to steer clear during those moments.

It angered Jake that Wyatt didn't even know Matrona's name. And Wyatt was supposed to be the most important person in her life. He barely kept himself from snorting. 

"Yes." Wyatt paused, asking a question that surprised Jake. "Do you think she'd want to come and keep Sam company while we're out?"

Matrona would cry at the lack of stores, and the lack of air-conditioning, but Sam deserved this. Jake realized that she hadn't said anything about the drive because it was killing her inside, ripping her apart, and she was disassociating. She was letting go of her pain, somehow, by shutting him out.

She deserved this. Jake took a step back. "I'll take care of it."

Without waiting for Wyatt to go, Jake went back inside. It was only as he kicked a bucket and watched it go flying across the room, that he realized he was angry. He was angry.

The bucket hit the wall, and extra paint splattered the wall. 

 

Wyatt was extending this offer, not because he understood the connection between Sam and Matrona, but because he pitied her, pitied her loss and wanted to distract her from the real work going on, because he did not think she should, or even could, participate.

It felt almost like a bribe. Wyatt did not believe, no matter what he'd said about Grandpa Forster, that Sam could be a rancher, not because she was a woman, but because of the injury that had changed her life.

He was just as bad as his father. Papa had been honest about the challenges they faced in this life. He'd been from a different age, a different time that expected different things out of women and girls. But stuff like this was Wyatt's M.O. and there was no excuse for it.

Grandpa would have come to see reason, perhaps, but Wyatt never would. In his mind, Sam would always be the product of the accident.

It was a bribe. Sam would not want Matrona out here if she knew that Wyatt was doing this for the reasons he seemed to be doing this. And yet, Sam deserved to see her friend, to show Matrona what her life was really like, to feel connected, to feel that ownership of a place that only came when you showed it to another person.

Sam was going to have that in her life, and Jake was tired of caring about the cost. He was tired of them being forced to weigh the cost of everything and anything in their world, weighing costs of things other people took for granted. 

This was another check, in another type of currency. This was not a check he could tear up and throw in a bin in a far away city.

This was thirty pieces of silver, and he was Judas. He was Judas, as he typed a text to Matrona.

 

_Now I've got blues and I've got blues_

_Let's get acquainted and lose those blues_

_Let's go, time's a wastin'_

_Now I've got feet and I've got feet_

_Let's start to walk where the lovers meet_

_Let's go, time's a wastin'_

_Time's a wastin'_ , June Carter and Carl Smith

 

Guilt was wearing on Jake. Sam could feel it in every line of his body in the darkness. He seemed to be ill at ease, even in sleep. Sam herself was restless. There was no other help for it. Her back hurt, and she felt wobbly, but that didn't matter now. Last spring, she would be thundering across the playa, late at night, uncaring of the consequences, to meet him, just to ride out their worries and their stress.

Today, Sam realized, they had to find some semblance of that option in their lives. Jake's features were stressed, even in sleep.

Was it work? He didn't talk much about his work with Haskins, didn't talk overmuch about his school work, beyond asking her to proofread and copy edit everything he wrote. No, he'd just gotten back a good grade, likely because of her editorial skills. His understanding of social justice had nothing to do with it, she thought.

It wasn't work.

On the other hand, the flip wasn't going well. She was kind of ticked about that whole thing. She had asked for no more, and then, Darrell had gotten his hooks into Quinn, who had gotten his hooks into Seth, who had lectured about fiscal responsibility, like he knew anything about it. He was in debt to his eyeballs. Something he'd said had resonated with Jake, and weeks later, here they were. Nobody ever listened to her about things like this. She should have insisted they go by what Adam's cards said, but things had moved too fast for her to get Adam to lay cards.

If he was this stressed about the flip, she'd burn the place to the ground.

Today, he'd come back tense and sullen. Quinn hadn't known what was up. She'd pressed him, as hard as she could. He'd looked uneasy, and headed out to meet some girl. Sam hadn't even bothered to tease him. He had dirt on her, after all, and with the way things were feeling, she wasn't about to bring anything up.

Sam tried not to feel shut out when Jake wouldn't talk about what was bugging him. She needed to give him space and consideration to work this out, whatever it was, in his own head, before she went plowing into it.

Sam almost fell out of the bed, then, as she yanked her nightgown out from under Jake's thigh, which was pressing her into the mattress, and stood, staring at the way his tossing and turning had pulled up the sheets and rumpled the blankets. Her bed was too small if he was going to have a personal crisis. Maybe that's why Gram always said that she and Grandpa had never gone to bed angry.

Her senses spinning, Sam moved softly to her dresser, and pulled out a sweatshirt, some jeans, socks, and, fumbling with the stuff in the dresser, a bra. After considering it, Sam shoved it away. The sweatshirt was big enough that it wouldn't much matter. How many times had she longed to say that? Small boobs had benefits. 

Sam sat down on the edge of the bed, and fumbled with her jeans. They got all tangled with the hem of her nightgown. The room was dark, and she only had sensation to rely upon. She pulled off the nightgown and yanked on the sweatshirt. Sam felt like she was going to fall as she was cursing Levi Strauss, so she plopped back down on the bed, her feet stuck in the denim.

Sam guessed that the shifting of the bed woke Jake up, because the next thing she knew, he was speaking from behind her. "Wha-?"

Sam turned her head, her jeans around her thighs and her sweatshirt lying funkily on her frame. "And people say I'm addled. You. Me. Warm night. Horses. Move it." Sam reached for the t-shirt on the floor to toss at him, forgetting that she couldn't balance well, and slipped off of the bed.

She hit the floor with a soft thud, her left knee hitting the ground at an awkward angle. Okay, so maybe this wasn't like other nights, but it could still be something, couldn't it?

Jake came around quickly, and pulled her off of the floor. Sam knew she was blushing, embarrassed, and dying to laugh. "Well, at least you're up now."

"I'm up. What's this, now?" Jake asked, pulling up her pants, skimming around the waistband so that it fell flat against the angles of her body.

Sam grinned against his shoulder. "Too much pent up energy. Come on."

"We're not waking up the horses." Jake shook his head, let his hand fall against her back where the sweatshirt wasn't unrolled. "Can't shut out problems, Sam."

This was good. He was going to give in and come along, once they had a chat. Thank you Ella, Sam thought. Ella liked chats. They were non-confrontational, small, and easily undertaken and managed. There was nothing anyone needed to fear from a chat.

Sam shook her head, "I'm not shutting anything out." Still, Sam tried to be gentle. Maybe he was talking about himself, and this was the breakthrough they needed to have. Maybe things, once again, as they had a million times, had come to a head in the middle of the night.

"Can't outrun them, either." Jake got a look at her, and snorted. Sam patted at her chest. Her hood was hanging down her front, like a bib, or a neck pocket. "Your sweater is on backwards."

Sam stepped away to fix it. She ended up just sitting back down on the rumpled bed. Jake yawned, "Just come back to bed before you wake everyone up."

Sam frowned, but did as he asked. She was tired. Her back was tight, and suddenly, the idea of taking one step made her rubbery, throbbing knee, ache. She kicked off her pants, and crawled into bed wearing a hoodie, she realized, that was not hers.

Sam smacked at her pillow, until Jake grabbed her arm gently, and wrapped himself snugly about her body, hooking a leg over her and shoving blankets her way. He did that snuffly thing he always did.

Sam wasn't about to let him go to sleep. "You need to tell me what's up."

"It's a flashlight." Jake deadpanned. There was a smile in his voice. Sam realized then, that mentally, he was nothing but a 12 year old snot with a depraved mind. Who thought that joke was funny, really?

"Oh, shut up." Sam whispered into the darkness. That was not funny. She pinched the hand wrapped around her body. If he thought she didn't notice it moving under the sweatshirt, she so did. "You know what I mean."

"Sam." Jake said, almost into her ear in this tiny bed. He acted like had maimed him, with that painful hiss and reproachful voice. "Violence is never a good response to emotions."

Sam sassed him back, trying to move enough to turn and look at him, "Says who?" He had thwarted her good idea, and hadn't replaced it with one of his own.

"Ella." Jake said. His fingers were firm against her hip, as they cradled the bony indents and swells of her body. "I love you. But I don't like you right now."

"You sure like me in this sweatshirt, though." Sam couldn't help but give into the urge to tease him.

Jake 'hmm'-ed against her, and went to sleep. "Liked the dream I was having, too." 

 

_I know what they're thinkin' 'cause I'm thinkin' it too_

_Got a jealous bone. Got a jealous bone._

_I feel blood pound all through my veins_

_Every last part of me is callin' your name_

_Got a jealous bone. Got a jealous bone._

_And I know I'm gonna run you off if I don't learn to let you go_

_But oooh ooh you make me lose control_

_I was born with a jealous bone_

_Jealous Bone_ , Patty Loveless

 

This had to stop now, Sam thought, as the door clicked shut with a finality she could not believe. In the days following her bruised knee, Jake had grown more and more secretive.

His phone started buzzing at all hours, and he would sit next to her, and have long, drawn out conversations that did not include her. It hurt.

But this! This was a new low.

Sam didn't think it was some woman, not like Quinn kept saying. What the everliving hell would Jake say to a woman? And if the texts sometimes came late at night, and he answered without fail, it was no big deal. When she asked what it was about, he would just blow her off with something about school or work.

That was the issue. The lies. She thought she could forgive the lies, in an effort to respect his space. 

Sam knew better, though, now. They were at River Bend, of all places, on her turf. This was her turf, she thought, looking around as the kitchen door shut firmly in her face.

Gram called out again, "Sam, aren't you going to help me?" Gram said, with an apologetic smile.

Sam turned around, whacking the wheelchair into the door. Gram thought that Sam was finally growing up into Gram's version of an adult woman, one who was more concerned with domesticity than riding drag. It made Sam want to scream until the blood vessels in her face broke open and her vocal cords were paralyzed. 

She hoped she broke the stupid thing down. How dare they! How dare they!

This was her home. Hers. Not Quinn's, or Nate's, and yet, they were all in there with Luke and Dad and Dallas talking about the drive, and she had been exiled, after a time. Shoo'd to the kitchen like some little girl, some little woman who pinned all of her hopes onto her dower chest and stepped back from the world. 

"Sure, I'll help, Gram." Sam said, grimly. She'd help. She'd put laxatives in their dinners. That would help them, she thought, to pull their heads out of their behinds.

_Do I want too much?_

_Am I going overboard to want that touch?_

_I shout it out to the night, "Give me what I deserve, 'cause it's my right"_

_Shouldn't I have this (shouldn't I)_

_Shouldn't I have this (shouldn't I)_

_Shouldn't I have all of this, and_

_Passionate kisses, passionate kisses, whoa oh oh_

_Passionate kisses from you_

_Passionate Kisses_ , Mary Chapin Carpenter

Jake's phone buzzed in unison with Quinn's and Nate's phones. He picked it up like a bomb was keyed to the security code. His text read, I _'m on to you all. I *know* all. We are going to talk about this. You guys thought you could shut me out. You'll see._

Nate looked up, "How could she know?" Every eye in the room turned to him, like he couldn't keep his mouth shut, like the effort of having been roped into staying silent when all he wanted to do was speak wasn't killing him. 

"Jake, you swore you wouldn't..." They had all been hounding him, badgering him, and Jake knew if they hadn't been watching him like a hawk, he would have already told her everything.

Jake held up his hands, "I didn't." He should have, but he hadn't. He'd given his word. 

His own phone buzzed again. Jake looked down, and read to himself, _Listen. You are obligated to tell me everything. I will be merciful if you admit that you went along with this plan to shut me out of the drive. We'll spin this so you look as piggish as the lot of them, though I don't know why I am being so kind to you, you jerk. Why? You owe me. Take notes._

Quinn tried to look over at his phone. Jake tapped the button twice. There was no need for Quinn to see Sam ranting and plotting. He did have information, now, though, that they didn't have.

He set the room at ease, "She thinks we're talking about the drive."

Three phones buzzed again. Nate's voice was laughing, "We're all heteronormative, sexist, gender-stereotyping pigs. She's going to show us." The phones buzzed again, "Who...woah, she's angry."

Jake looked down at his phone again.  _Why?_

She wasn't angry. She was hurt. 

They all heard Grace say, "Samantha Anne, put down that phone and dress that teapot. Lilia is coming over, and I won't be shamed by a naked teapot."

Jake couldn't help but feel relieved. He hadn't told her about Matrona coming, and she had asked and asked what he was up to on his phone.

Matrona had all of these annoying questions and he couldn't tell her to ask Sam. He had brought this punishment upon himself, and God was punishing him with Matrona's texting.

"I don't see why she's upset." Wyatt ventured, "She's the one who said she's not going." He looked utterly befuddled, that they were using their phones as a means of communication to bridge a gap of one room. "And anyway..."

Jake could not, once again, believe Wyatt. Just because Sam wasn't going didn't mean she didn't get a say in the yearly planning. She was doing the bulk of the preparatory work in the barn, that much he knew. Jake wanted nothing more to speak, but his father shot him a warning glance.

"Door, Sammy!" Dad said, cutting off Wyatt before he said anything that would give away what everyone considered a surprise. Jake was dreading the aftermath too much to anticipate the good parts of Matrona's visit.

There was a clatter of wheelchair against the door as she backed away, and he heard Sam say something like, "Stupid, stupid, idiots!"

Quinn laughed.

Nate said, "She's not upset. Just annoyed." Jake didn't know how she felt, but he knew that this was no laughing matter. She wasn't talking about the drive. She seemed fixated on what she thought was going on with him. Jake wasn't sure how he felt about that.

"Use it to your advantage." Dallas decided, catching the look Jake was throwing the old man's boss. "Throw her off the scent, as such."

It wasn't that easy or simple, especially for him. Their brothers got off easy. They got in their saddles and trotted home, uncaring as Sam threw glares and snippy comments their way. They thought they were being funny, that Sam would be overjoyed.

They didn't have to deal with the knot of betrayal in their guts when Sam looked at him wide and hopeful eyes.

 

The eventual outcome of his betrayal kept him up at night.

 

He had sold her out, kissed her on the cheek for 30 pieces of silver, thirty pieces of feeling like he belonged with the others, 30 pieces of feeling like things were normal again. They were normal, but they weren't right, not anymore. He thought he had done this for Sam, but it had hit him not too long ago that in actuality, he had done this for himself, in some misguided and awful attempt to garner approval. 

She was about as invisible as a neon sign as she pulled him aside. Even Wyatt shot him a warning look, as Sam rammed Jake with her wheelchair to corner him, in the empty kitchen.

 _Do not compare her to Blaise or say that he herds better,_ Jake thought _, do not. She will kill you, and you will deserve it_. "I'm not a cow, Sam." He resisted the urge to rub his shin. That chair hurt like fuck. 

Gram was changing for her visit with Lila Kenworthy, and they were alone. The dog left the room with Dallas. No one wanted to witness the explosion they all knew was coming. "Well?"

Jake didn't know what to say. She looked like a wrathful Goddess, ready to strike him dead with one glare, one touch of those blood red lips. Jake knew that she had been biting them to still that sharp tongue of hers, sucking on her lips, drawing them inward to swallow the words she wanted to shout.

Sam was not blind to the the direction of his thoughts, or the increase of the energy around them. "Jake." She snorted, "If you think for one second that you're going to simply look at me like that and make me forget..."

Jake saw her knees press together as he braced one hand on the back of the chair so it wouldn't tip over when she pushed up on the footplates. He cut her off, swallowed her feeble rant with the dip of his head, and the press of his lips against her open mouth.

God, Jake thought, they should have done this years ago. The scrape of Sam's chipped and broken nails as she pulled him closer with a fevered gasp begged him to put more into this moment. This obviously, wouldn't settle the argument, but it was a fantastic intermission. It seemed they were saying more this way, anyhow.

The angle was a bit off, but they were a mesh of lips and teeth and tongues that made up for it. The embrace sparked like flint between them. Sam's hand left his neck, and went to his shoulder as the oxygen between them depleted. Sam titled back, arched, using his shoulder for leverage.

Jake compensated for that movement, by caressing her through the flannel shirt she wore.

Her moan into his mouth told him that that's exactly why she had tilted back, used the chair to get what she wanted.

She was the most frustrating, annoying, blatant woman he had ever known. And yet, the fact that her ire towards him had so easily been molded into a lava pit of desire said so many things, did so many things. She was frustrating and stubborn and passionate, and God, he wanted her, wanted this to be over so that they could be them, again, without pretension.

He pulled back, and the lack of contact let too many thoughts come flooding back. Sam's lips had gone past red and slid into puffy and swollen. Her eyes were sparkling, and Jake liked that he couldn't find the line between her annoyance and her passion in her eyes.

He pressed a tiny kiss against the corner of her mouth, needing her gentleness more than anything in this second. Her wide green eyes peered into his soul, as her palm soothed the place on his neck that she had no doubt lightly torn open. "Brat."

Jake pressed her lips to hers gently, felt her smile bloom under the light pressure. Sam whispered, "Go away. I must plot and plan."

Jake straitened up, and stepped back formally. He couldn't help but tease her. He lived to tease her. That would never change. "Take good notes, Brat."

She called after him as he left the kitchen, "Shut your stupid face!"

Jake knew that she didn't mean it, but he heard Grace scold her. "Jen will be here any second, and I don't want her to hear you talking that way!"

Jake couldn't help but laugh until his stomach hurt.

He laughed until he realized that Sam had every reason not to trust him right now, had every reason not to put her faith in him, and yet, she did. She did, and he was making light of it. 

He made himself sick. Jake hyperventilated, until he sat at the boundary line, shaking and shuddering, a cold chill of truth crawling up his spine. 

They had crawled out of hell together and he was trampling on her trust. 

No wonder Judas had hung himself. 

 

_Me and my childhood sweetheart have come to the parting of the ways_

_He still treats me like he did in our baby days._

_I'm a little bit older and a little bit bolder_

_Since both of us were three._

_He oughtta take one good look at me._

_I'm a big girl now. I'm a big girl now._

_I want to be handled like a big girl now_

_I'm tired of being babied like a kid of three_

_I'm a Big Girl Now_ , Betty Barclay w/ Sammy Kaye

 

In the passing days, as her world filled up again with the boys coming home, Sam knew that this was one battle she was going to have to wage on her own. Not even Jen could help her. She was busy, and distant about the whole issue, in a way that hurt Sam, though she was certain Jen didn't mean to be hurtful.

So Sam did what she had to do. She started out by being polite. It was her way, after all, to do her upmost to be nice and kind."Please." She followed Jake down the aisle of the barn, resisting the urge to pull on the back of his shirt and scream.

"No." He didn't even look back at her this time. How rude. If he would only give up and give in, things would go so much more smoothly.

Sam passed him the comb he had asked her to hold. Before she let it go, though, she repeated herself. "Please."

"No." Jake's flat voice wasn't annoyed yet. He sounded pained, broken. He was simply repeating himself. Sam did not think he knew what he was saying. If he was more alert and aware of her, he would never deny her needs.

Sam decided to throw her hat in the ring, just to prove that she could say something other than please. Maybe that would help him to say something other than no, over and over. "Please, please, please, please..."

Nate rolled his, and left them to this, patting Witch as he left her side. He muttered something that sounded like, "Jeez..."

Sam sent him a glare, "If you're not part of the solution, Nathaniel, you're part of the problem."

Jake didn't reply, as he approached Witch in the cross-ties. Sam hung back, mostly just to make a point. She was going to watch him work.

His hands were shaking on the cross-ties. Sam supposed he was suppressing laughter. 

Sam decided to try reason again, not that it had worked the first fifty times. "Come on, you know what's in this for you, with one tiny bit of information, you could..."

Jake looked down at her, over Witch's back, as he gave his beloved horse a quick check before getting on with grooming her. Witch seemed as impatient as she was feeling. "What...makes you think I know anything?"

"I was not born yesterday." That was not enough. Sam didn't even bother hiding the truth. "I went through your phone."

"Sam!" Jake went chalky, and patted his pocket quickly.

Sam rolled her eyes. She said she had looked at it, not stolen it. There was a line, after all, between normal behavior and invasions of privacy. "And you cleaned out the whole message log." Sam grinned, "Which tells me some things."

Jake was calm again, was focusing on Witch. He did look up briefly to ask, "What things?"

"You're hiding things." Sam returned, "Quinn says it's not anything reasonable, like a horse. In fact, he told me you're talking to a girl." Sam waived her hand, "So he doesn't know jack. Or he does. It's immaterial. You need a better cover."

"And this tells you what?" Jake seemed rather uneasy and impatient. Progress, Sam thought. Let him squirm.

"I'm getting there." She said, "So I asked Max if our odious cousins were visiting..." After all, she knew that phone number. It struck a thread of rage into her heart. That area code alone was enough to make her lose her breakfast.

"Odious?" Jake snorted. Witch shifted, and Sam knew just what she was saying. Yes, Sam agreed mentally, he did not get the point at all. If he was being this slow on the uptake about everything, Sam figured he needed a few gentle reminders.

"I loathe them." Sam bit out. He knew this. Why was she repeating herself?

"Yes." Jake said, picking up Witch's hoof to clean it. Witch shifted her weight, as though she was the most put upon horse in all creation. Sam empathized with her feelings.

Sam came to a point she had only just seen. "So if you don't want to be like cousin Mike, you will tell me!"

Jake sighed, "That is the most..."

Nobody wanted to be like yucky Cousin Mike. "Convincing? Sensible? Fantastic?"

"No." Jake said, with some finality. "I want to, don't you understand, but I…" He breathed out, "I can't."

Sam went for her final option. It was something she was actually something she looked forward to doing, but he didn't need to be told that. He already knew. "God, Jake, do I have to pull out the Betty Crocker Cookie Book? I will do it, and..." She trailed off. She was open to suggestions here.

Jake looked down, and Sam wondered, not for the first time, if there was something more going on here than work. She cared about the drive, she was going to miss it, but she was clinging to the hope of next year. It seemed that the hope was utterly gone from Jake's eyes, and that scared her. 

Sam faked a very good sigh, and paused. "Alright, okay. I saved the Sammons-Preston catalog. We can even go there."

Jake blinked at her.

"No?" Sam bit her lip and tugged on the end of her hair, "How about I just make life really challenging in attractively annoying ways? How about that?"

"You know what?" Jake was trying to hide his own smile. Sam could see it in his eyes. _Thank God_ , she thought. She would live and die by that slow smile. "Bring it."

 

_I see your face and then I'm wrapped around your pretty little finger again_

_It feels like ages since you laid down in my arms_

_I see no good reason but still I'm tangled in your charms_

_My God, you're smilin' and you catch my eye_

_My heart is pounding deep inside_

_Wrapped_ , George Strait

The spring air was warm, finally. Jake's shoulders were warmed by the stronger sun. He shut off the Scout, and let the air float in the cab through the open window, let the sun warm his hands through the glass of the windshield. There was no sound floating over the air, save the sounds of life from the barn, the hum of some energy that felt like life as he understood it.

Jake got out of the truck. He did not follow the pull towards the barn, and instead headed to the house. It had been a long day. He wasn't glad that it was over.

He was glad that, in reality, the part of the day he most looked forward to was only starting now. Jake let himself into the kitchen at River Bend, patted the lazy cat who was on the table as he put Cougar back on the floor, and went into the dining room.

He could make himself forget what he had done, in those moments. 

Sam didn't see him, and the smile on his face faded as he took in the pile of books around her computer, the notebook in front of her, and the pencil that had been thrown across the room. It was nearly dinnertime, and she was still working. The video playing on her laptop was going on about some concept or other. He had hoped, that somehow, she would have learned how to take it easy once and a while.

She worked nightly next to him and his MCAT books, doing extra schoolwork so as to move quickly through the units and modules. 

"Do you love me?" Sam asked, and Jake realized that he had been caught staring at her yet again.

"Nope." Jake replied, taking a look at the Easter eggs on the table. They were clearly freshly dyed. Jake wondered if he could sneak one from the centerpiece.

"You do, you liar." Sam shut the lid to her computer, not at all ill at ease. Her fingers had dye on the ends .Jake peered over her shoulder, and down at the page. The problems were mostly correct. She shut the notebook easily, and stuck the pen in the binding of the notebook.

Jake pulled some bit of fluff out of her hair, "Not enough to do your math homework, or to tell you things you I think know." Sam rotated around and gave him such a scathing look, it would have melted flesh if she had been serious about it.

"Come on, then." Sam stood, and walked back into the kitchen. She checked on the slow-cooker, and Jake knew that she was taunting him with the promise of good food. Jake leveled a look at her, and she grinned in that way of hers. She had all but tortured him, eating the dough of those cookies, and not saving him any, and then using them all in making cookies. Then she had let everyone get them, and not put any aside for him. She was a sadist.

It hardly mattered. He couldn't bring himself to eat one. Every time he looked at the cookies she had made, he somehow thought about their relationship. 

His brothers said that this whole Matrona thing was a boyfriend-ish thing to do. Jake wanted to vomit. They didn't understand anything. 

Jake carefully washed his hands to center his thoughts. It was a deliberate process, as deliberate as Sam's taunting him with soup when he hadn't eaten since lunch a decade ago, at Haskin's office. When he turned around, Sam was sitting in the chair by the phone, her pump and kit at the ready. "How was this morning?"

"Same as yesterday, the day before that, and the day before that..." Sam drawled, hauling off her sweater and yanking up the sleeve of her shirt. "Can we get on with this, or are you going to yammer at me all night?"

She balanced the large hatbox on her knees, and found the cream she needed. She never appreciated his organizational structures, but things were always there when they were needed.

"We're waiting on Dad." Jake took it, and spread it gently over the site on her arm. While it took effect, Sam listened about what he had done all day. Well, she asked questions that required more than 'yes' or 'no' in response.

 

He reciprocated as he checked over the line that Dad had set up before he had left this morning. By now, Sam insisted that she could do it herself, but rules were rules, and Dad could be inflexible.

Sam wasn't about to defy Dad, not when he could easily put in a phone call to the VNA. Really, though, they waited about two minutes. It was long enough by the time that Dad walked in and got himself settled that the cream had kicked in.

Sam poked gently at the skin around her port, and declared, "I think we're good."

So, carefully, Sam pushed the buttons on her pump. It beeped, as she instructed the reservoir volume to reset and again as she continued to set the system up. Jake didn't mind sticking her. She couldn't do it herself, obviously. She said it didn't hurt because of the cream and the growing scar tissue, but it still bothered him. It was pretty much old hat by now, though, and Sam was counting the days until she was off of the medication at home. Dad always offered to do it, but mostly, he provided advice and observed.

Privately, they'd agreed upon the need to be self-sufficient. He could not allow himself to be scared to help her. He could not allow himself to allow that to become a block in his brain. Taking care of Sam was instinctual, and he knew that the areas where one type of care conflicted with another had to be explored together.

So Jake poured some foaming hand sanitizer over her hands, and scooped up the excess for his own use. The floor was useful as a tray, with a kit towel spread open to keep the area sterile. The syringe was left attached when he flushed the extension tubing, and primed the coreless needle. Sam tore open a alcohol swab with her fingers, and wiped the area above the port clean. The scent filled the air between them, sharp and stinging.

Sam found the port, and guided his fingers over the spot. Quickly, Jake grabbed the uncapped needle, and reminded her, "Breathe, okay?"

Sam inhaled, and Jake did his best to maintain the 90 degree angle, and press properly, until he felt the back of the port under the needle. It aspirated, and Jake saw the blood flash in return. Her blood in his hands always made him uneasy, but Sam simply grounded him, with a hand on his shoulder.

Dad said, from over his shoulder, "Good..."

His hands were steady as the tegaderm covered the spot perfectly.

"I hate that it has to be changed every seven days." Jake muttered, and Sam shook her head. She knew, she understood. She didn't complain.

She frowned at the sensation when he flushed it again. The tubing was easily connected, Dad tearing into a package of fresh tubing, and set it up on the port as Sam finished up the last bit of being stuck.

The infusion began. Dad hung around for about two minutes, grabbed an egg off of the table, and left to go to Wyatt. They'd see him later, when he came in to check on Sam.

Jake, for himself, got a bowl of soup. There were all sorts of vegetables in it from the garden, and the base was a leftover ham bone. He poured a double portion of the soup into a bowl, and grabbed a hunk of crusty bread from the counter, and gave up when he couldn't find the butter.

From the other side of the room, Sam pointed to a crock on the counter, with a lift of her eyebrows that said, "Would you at least try and look?"

"When did you have time to make butter?" Jake asked, as he scooped out some of the fresh butter with a spoon, and sat down to eat his soup. He used the spoon to spread the goat butter, and put the spoon in the soup.

"Have you seen how many gallons we're getting lately? I hate to finish one of the girls off, but..." She shrugged, "I made the time." Grace was insistent that Sam help in the house where she wanted to help. He knew that they had locked horns a time or two over something that needed doing. It occurred to Jake that he had very little idea how to make butter. "It's easy."

Jake just tucked in. It was easy for her. "Thank you."

She frowned. She didn't much like being thanked, but she always made a point of thanking him. It only seemed fair to reciprocate. Sam changed the subject, "How is prep really going?"

Sam was looking at him carefully, and Jake did his best to swallow. "It's going to be fine, Sam." He was giving her the brush-off, and she knew it, but the drive was going to be fine. It was going to be fine. "I think we'll talk about it at the family meeting."

Sam nodded, "I don't know that I..." Sam broke off, looking down at her lap.

"Hey..." Jake said softly, "You don't need to worry." She seemed to take his words at face value. Then again, who needed to worry, really? There was no 'need' about it. People just did it. They lapsed in silence. Jake knew Sam was gathering her words. They had all the time they needed.

Just as Sam was settling into the last bit of this infusion, Jen bounded up the steps and into the room. Her short hair was flying everywhere. Jake stuck his spoon in his soup, and tried not to feel jealous that he was not going to get all of Sam's attention.

Jen began, "Sam. Did you hear?"

"Did I hear what?" Sam asked, looking over at Jen as she plopped down her bag and helped herself to the very egg that Jake had been eyeing up, knocking it gently on the table.

Jake caught Sam's 'you snoozed, Ely' expression and bit into a boiled carrot. It was better than an egg anyhow.

Jake looked sharply up at Jen. He would not hesitate to steal that egg if she spilled the beans. Jen got the message. How she forgot that Sam was not to know anything about this was beyond him. It was hard enough to get Sam out of the way long enough to plan anything. And what with their brothers hounding him about being quiet, he barely had time with her. That he was awash with guilt made his life painful. 

Jen colored softly, and shook her head. "Just that...erm, I'm thinking on giving Silly a bath before she, uh, the, uh, drive. Can I borrow some Mane n' Tail?"

Sam did not buy it, but she said, "Sure." Instead of turning that questioning stare on Jen, though, she turned all of the force of her gaze upon him.

Jake sighed, but shook his head minutely, and raised an eyebrow. He tried, really, tried to throw her off. She chewed on her lip.

She didn't buy it, not even coming from him. Jake did the cowardly thing, then. He drained his bowl quickly, sopping up the last bit of the broth with some bread that he was pretty sure Grace had mixed but Sam had baked, and ditched the bowl in the sink. On his way out of the room, he stuffed his pockets with two eggs, and a cookie.

Sam called back after him, "Hey! I'm almost done here!" She didn't much like sitting at her pump for a second longer than she had to sit there.

Jake plopped down on the sofa with an ease he did not feel, almost cracking his egg. He couldn't go far, but at least he didn't have to worry about blowing up the entire plan before things were set if her searching eyes weren't peering into his soul. He flipped on the TV that was pretty much out of the closet all of the time. "Just enough time to check in on the weather."

"No one watches the news for the weather!" Sam replied, "What are you hiding?" After a few clicks, Jake turned up the volume a bit on the HGTV channel that Sam had left the TV on when she'd shut it off at some point. Her computer was still hooked up to play Netflix. Jake did the only sensible thing and ignored her entirely.

He couldn't ignore the clanging of the warning bells in his mind, however. 

_I take all the good times I can get_

_I'm too young for growing up just yet_

_Ain't much I can promise you_

_'Cept to do the best I can_

_I'll be damned_

_I may be a real bad boy_

_But baby I'm a real good man_

_Real Good Man,_  Tim McGraw

Jen didn't say a single word about Jake's secret, no matter how much Sam pressed her. Jake had to come back in to help her with her pump. It was a blessing actually, because Sam was able to work on Jake a bit. "I know you're hiding something."

"Nope." Jake replied, not looking at her as he flushed the line and did what was needed to free her from this never ending cycle of antibiotics and fluids. The gauze in her lap eventually covered her open port. Jen left before that part, though, because she was completely honest in admitting that the port-a-cath freaked her out. Sam appreciated her honesty, something that she was not getting from Jake.

"Lies." Sam leaned forward once she was cleaned up and started to put things away slowly. She was always a bit tired after just sitting here for ages. She slid to the edge of the chair to try and grab the box for the new swabs. They bought them in case lots now.

"The Easter Bunny doesn't leave chocolates for people who lie, you know." Sam ripped into a swab packet. 

Jake tilted his head, as he filled the space around her. His words were serious, soft. "I lied, Sam. I lied."

"I knew it!" She tried not to worry overmuch. She was actually kind of curious. It wasn't like he had actually purchased that awful eggshell paint, was it? Eggshell wasn't dark enough to be a cream or a tan, or light enough to be white, and after a while, it just looked dirty. It wasn't a good color for selling a flip. It was a newbie mistake. "You can return the paint."

Very seriously, he lowered himself to her side. "It's not about the paint, Sam."

Sam blinked at Jake expectantly, wishing and praying that she would not throttle him with whatever he said. At least, she reasoned, he had listened about the paint color this time.

He continued, "Brat, I uh, don't know how to tell you this. I thought you knew..." He leaned in closer, and Sam was almost rigid with curiosity, until he put his hand on her thigh, and whispered along the shell of her ear, "Mom and Grace are the Easter Bunny, and the candy is in Mom's summer kitchen."

Somehow Sam was certain that that wasn't what he'd meant to confess. His breath tickled her ear, until the words hit home, and Sam leaned back, "You..." She spluttered, "You are...mean, and I don't like you, and you're rude and mean..."

His brown eyes were dancing, and he had to frown to hide a smile, "If you're trying to get a rise out of me, it's working."

Sam was entirely satisfied with her efforts. He could be just as on edge as she was, albeit for an entirely different reason. He could wait and wonder, just like she had been for ages. 

"Yeah, well, at least I'm not a mean, secret keeping, jerk." Sam looked at her nails, as though she was bored, instead of increasingly aware of the thrum in her blood at his nearness. Her pinky nail was cut to the quick, and past it a bit. It hurt, still. At least the cut on her palm was healing. "I'll get it out of you, so I'm not worried."

Jake brushed his fingers over her leg, the light sensation doing more to her nerve endings than a solid press of his hand ever would. The sensations that pooled inside of her made her light headed. "You keep this up, you'll get something."

Sam's breath caught in her lungs as their eyes locked together. Whatever he was hiding, it faded in that second. Sam didn't, truly and honestly, care, not if she could tease him and he could give himself so fully to the moment, that he could outright slid right past light flirting right into outright suggestion.

Just as Sam was about to draw him closer, just as their lips were about to brush, just as the tightness in her stomach really started to solidify and build with anticipation, Jake rocked back on his heels and stood, a fluid moment of ease that threw her off.

Sam heard Jen's footsteps coming down the stairs, as Jake left the kitchen, heading outside. Jen looked at her, and said, "He's so strange."

"You're telling me." Sam bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing hysterically. "I plan to figure you guys out at the family meeting, Jen. I will know all."

Jen laughed lightly, "I'd start with Quinn. You know what a blabbermouth he can be."

Sam moved around the sharps bucket that Jake had forgotten, and smiled at her friend. The port twinged, but she thought maybe it was at the memory of Quinn's nearly incessant teasing when their parents weren't around. "Oh, shush."

_(My eyes adored ya)_

_All my life I will remember_

_(Though I never laid a hand on you)_

_How warm and tender we were way back then, whoa, whoa, baby_

_(Like a million miles away from me_

_you couldn't see how I adored ya)_

_Oh, the feeling, sad regrets_

_(So close, so close and yet so far)_

_I know I won't ever forget ya, my childhood friend_

_My Eyes Adored You,_ Frankie Valli

Jake passed the huge bowl for the potatoes to his left. Sam took them, and glared, as she started to spoon the potatoes into the bowl. She was annoyed that he wasn't telling her some big secret she thought he had. He couldn't bring himself to tell her that he had sold her out, sold his integrity for a bit of something that was supposed to feel normal. 'You have no patience."

The room was loud with the flurry of their family. Everyone was home for Easter, and the cattle drive. The house was bursting at the seams, and Jake did not think he had seen his parents so happy in some time. He had taken to hiding in the barn when he couldn't take the lot of them, anymore. "I want what I want when I want it."

Jake knew that, all too well. "I know." He wiped the edge of the bowl, spun around, and set it on the counter for somebody else to carry to the table. By then, Sam had moved down the line to the huge pot of sugared carrots.

"And I don't like secrets." She fished one out with the slotted spoon, and blew on it.

Jake took the half that she left in the spoon, and blew more heavily on the carrot. Minding the steam, he popped it into his mouth, and spoke around it, just to annoy her. "I don't have one."

Sam swallowed, and wasn't pleased with his behavior or the taste of the carrots Mom had asked her to mind while she checked the roaster that was plugged in in the back. In years past, Mom had had to rely on more than one stove to keep everyone fed.

Sam pointed her spoon at him, "You think I don't know lots of things I know."

Jake was utterly annoyed, so he decided to rile her up. It was more fun than rehashing this for the millionth time. He simply returned, "Uh-huh."

Sam added more brown sugar to the carrots, and turned up the heat, stirring quickly. "Whatever."

"If you say so." It clearly wasn't 'whatever' but she sounded like some kind of bored teenage kid hanging out in a mall somewhere, bumming a smoke, and not getting one.

Sam put her foot down, and dumped the green beans quickly into a bowl. "I do say so, and you know what else I say?"

Jake took the bowl and set the bowl on the counter, almost bumping into his father.

"Cut line." Dad took the green beans and picked up the potatoes. "The both of you."

Sam huffed. She glared at him when Dad walked away, carrying the bowls.

Jake put his hands up in a defensive gesture, like she was going to come at him with that black plastic spoon. "What are you looking at me for? I didn't do anything."  _This time._

"This is all your doing." The spoon hit the bottom of the pot as Sam stirred. "Every last bit of it. I have wheedled." The spoon hit the bottom of the bowl as Sam rotated the food inside it. "I have plotted."

Jake's grin grew after she looked away, a tendril of her hair falling out of the clip as she continued to hurry the carrots along, stirring and rotating and lecturing him. Her plots to get him to spill had been fun, so much fun that Jake had tried so hard to let go of the guilt enough to enjoy them. "I have even lowered myself enough to plead. I shall do it no longer."

It was all Jake could do not to laugh and force himself to sound stern and annoyed. She really was very captivating when she was annoyed, and it gave him hope that, if he could just find a way to tell her, that she would understand how he had failed, and forgive him. She didn't owe him forgiveness, but he 

She was terrible at pleading. She had demanded, softened her demands, and finally resorted to manipulating him with cookies. When he'd refused, claiming he knew nothing, she had licked the spoon and the bowl clean. And she had made him watch. He'd trembled. "Good, then maybe you can stop talking at me like you've swallowed a thesaurus."

Sam was satisfied with her carrots. She flipped the burner on the stove to its off setting, and reached up to grab another serving bowl. Her sweater rode up, and the slight slope of her back that peeked through the gap stole his attention for a second. When he focused again, she was trying to find the oven towel. "Move, Brat."

He intended to pick up the pot and move it where she wanted it. She could not be lifting huge dutch ovens. She had a strict weight restriction when the needle was in and the port was open. He was not happy to see that she was so easily setting it aside. "I will not!" She brandished her spoon.

"Sam." The space between the stove and the counter was small for two people trying to work, the L-shape providing a confined space in which to move. So Jake simply plucked the spoon from her grip, hoping that she would go and stand down there, to put the carrots in the bowl.

She didn't move. Instead, she returned, "Give me one reason why I should do anything you say."

"I'll give you a hint if you move." Jake decided.

She moved so fast, it was almost comical. He set the heavy pot on the counter, and turned to where she was standing, there, expectantly. Carefully glancing at the door to the dining room, Jake lowered his head, as Sam pushed up on her feet. She was still a unsteady, so he looped an arm around her waist. Her hand went to his chest. "You'll never guess what's going to happen. You like your friends, right? I just want you to know, really know, that I'm sorry."

Sam's body tensed against him, and she almost screamed. "What on earth are you sorry for? That's not a hint!" Without much thought, Jake found that Sam pushed up, and pulled him towards her, like the moon pulls the tide. Whatever else she said was swallowed between them as her annoyance spilled forth.

She pulled back ten seconds later, her feet lowering to rest flat on the floor, the weight that had been pressing into him was back in her own frame.

Jake softly teased her, "Exhebitionist."

Sam nodded, like they had cracked some code together, "Uh-huh." She turned and picked up her spoon again, though her body was tense, was flushed, and possibilities danced in her movement.

Jake bracketed her feet with his own, as she scooped out the carrots. Hr stole one or two from the bowl, and placed his hand on her shoulder, flicking her hair back, so as to finish this, "I'm putty in your hands, Sam."

He didn't mind it too much, especially when she laughed to the point of snorting, and denied it. "I'll get the drop on this, one day. I promise." Well. It couldn't be helped. Everyone knew that he was really bad at hints.

_Paranoia strikes deep, into your life it will creep_

_It starts when you're always afraid_

_Step out of line, the men come and take you away_

_We better stop!_

_Hey, what's that sound?_

_Everybody look - what's going down?_

For What it's Worth, Buffalo Springfield

Sam's good humor was fast fading. Her worry was returning. There was so much work to be done. Jake wasn't talking. That was not odd, but what was odd was that he was keeping silent even when he had cause to speak. He looked and felt so mired in grief.  "And I..." Sam sighed, and threw more paint onto her canvas, "What do you think it is, Jen? I've decided that they've decided to ship me off."

Sam had decided that they had all decided to send her back to Sue's and that Jake was struggling to find some way to tell her. 

"You don't honestly think..." Jen was almost milk-white, sitting on the couch. Sam tried not think about the moments of incredibly unspeakable closeness that couch had seen. She still felt Jake's heartbeat in her ears in silent moments. 

Come to think on it, there had probably been a lot of messy teenage fumblings on that couch. Gross. They needed a disinfectant and slipcovers.

"No, I don't." Sam admitted, picking a brush out of her apron pocket. Jake wouldn't let them be told anything. He'd pack them up if it came to that, but they would leave on their terms, or not at all. "It better not be another house. We can't afford it."

Jen snorted, "I still think your money situation is freaky." She bit off a twizzler, "How many houses do you own?"

"I don't own any." Sam insisted, looking at her canvas intently. The landscape she was working on was insipid. "The company, which I don't even own..." She looked up, over her canvas, "Jen."

"Huh?" Jen swallowed the last bit of the twizzler.

"You'd tell me if I...if..." Sam didn't know how to express her unease. Things were swirling around her, and she felt powerless and out of control. She had overheard things she could not understand, could not put into context.

"I would not allow you to be hurt, Sam." Jen promised. "And," She sighed, "Neither would any of the rest of them."

"I feel lonely and left out. Nobody tells me anything." Sam admitted. What if they really thought that she couldn't do this? She needed to prove that she really and truly could meet every challenge set before her. "I feel patronized."

Jen asked carefully, "What happened?"

"A whole lot of nothing." Sam said. She had gone about her daily work. In between, she'd plotted, and planned, and wheedled and pleaded. Her normal methods no longer worked. They had never really worked, not really, but they weren't fun anymore.

They weren't fun anymore. She wasn't a little girl to beg for attention. It hurt. It had used to be funny, but now it felt like sand in a blistering wound. 

She felt so very shut out. She felt looked over, and when she had sought attention, she felt humored and intensely ignored. Something was going on, something that not even Gram would tell her about. For a long time, she had thought they were being sexist pigs, but if Gram knew, well, then, it had nothing to do with her gender. Gram was the most womanly woman Sam knew.

Sam was left to believe that it was her injury that was causing this rift. She didn't like that, not one bit. She didn't like that there were things going on with the ranch that people were cutting her out of on account of her physical situation. She didn't like that conversations ended when she entered the room, that Jake wasn't telling her things. She didn't like the guilt and the pain she felt in his touch, at some random moments, the desperation.

She didn't like playing poker with half a deck. All of her cards were on the table. Sam resolved then, to give control to the Universe. She was done being a little child. She was going to prove to them all, every last one of them, that she was more than capable of handling her life's work. She'd show them all.

The brown paint smeared across her canvas, and for the first moment since she'd started this painting, Sam felt a perverse sense of satisfaction. 

She'd fucked it up, and the wrongness, finally, finally felt right in her soul. Her reality was on canvas. 

 

_Back to back with the Rio Grande_

_A Christian woman in the devil's land_

_She learned the language and she learned to fight_

_But she never learned how to beat the lonely nights_

_In Lonesome Dove, Lonesome Dove_

_In Lonesome Dove_ , Garth Brooks

The mud was everywhere, up Ace's legs, over her hands, everywhere. It clung to her boots and her jeans, drying even as the rushing water sprayed upon her and Ace and dumped upon them by the bucketful from the sky. The river rushed by them, evidence of too fast melting of the snow in the mountains. It wasn't good. There had been too many mudslides in California, and they were feeling the effects.

What made it worse was that a cow had stumbled into the river, and had gotten caught in roots and branches that had collected there. The water was deep, it would be over her head in the middle, but in the edges, it was low enough that the cow could stand. The trouble was, that every time they tried to move her, she slipped farther towards the center.

They had to get that heifer out. They had to help her, save her, somehow. They did all the right things, they ran a line, they communicated. Sam was not ill at ease; they knew what they were doing. Somebody coaxed, somebody pulled, somebody pushed. And somebody, that somebody being her, was minding the horses and was going to pull the rope attached to her saddle if the mud hit the fan.

It wasn't their first rodeo, and all Sam could do was stand there, on the muddy bank, hoping and praying that what little she had done to help had been enough to save that cow.

Over the rush of the water, she heard a low moo that meant something to her. She had heard and responded to that sound a thousand times. That cow was Buddy.

It wasn't just any cow, it was her baby. She prayed harder than she ever had before. But not even a prayer to the Triune God could still the anger in her heart. 

Being that he was the youngest, they said, Jake got the job of pushing. It wasn't that he was the youngest, not really. Honestly, he was a strong swimmer and better with Buddy. They had known it was Buddy, and hadn't said a word to her. No one had said a damn word.

Fear and anger mixed in her heart as she watched them work, watched the water, gallons and gallons of it, rush by as Jake tried to soothe Buddy enough to get her to help herself to free her body and her stuck hoof.

She didn't have much information, though she wished she was down there with them. She could keep Buddy calm, she realized. Sam resolved to do just that, until she remembered that she had to be there to move Ace.

She stayed in the saddle, until she heard Adam yell over the river, "Sam!"

They were taking a huge risk with Buddy. They could be reasonably sure that she was free, but not totally, given the relative depth of the water. If they gave the command at the wrong second, Sam knew that it could end very badly for Buddy.

Sam, without question, moved Ace backwards, and saw Buddy flail towards the edge. Sam cried out with joy, calling the attention of those around her.

They knew she knew. Good. 

As Buddy moved, Sam saw her fear grow. Buddy thrashed about, hating the ropes that were confining and saving her. Her hoof hit Jake in the stomach, hard.

On land, it would have been nothing, a bruise to laugh at and tease over, a bruise to kiss better, a bruise to gently poke until he spilled his guts. The mud and the branches and the water changed all of that. Sam watched him go down, watched him, the last one in the river, stumble backwards, trip, and fall, with a resounding splash that the current easily swallowed.

Horror rushed through her as the rain obscured her vision. The others were rushing, diving, grabbing for anything. Before Quinn even took one step into the water, Sam fumbled with the rope on her saddle, dropped it, and urged Ace forward.

The shouting made one thing clear. Their brother's rescue attempts had done nothing. Even their quick witted action had done nothing, were still achieving nothing. Sam's stomach was in knots.

Time stopped as Jake rushed by her. She saw something utterly desperate in his eyes. He'd been hurt, somehow. This was not the reaction of a strong swimmer.

This was not him. Sam heard Nate yelling her name, pulling rank, demanding her compliance. She ignored it. She couldn't hear anything above the dual beating of her heart and the thudding of Ace's hooves.

It came down to her to save him, just as he had saved her, just as they had once upon a moment saved each other. Sam saw a turn in the river, one where the water rushed, just up ahead. She had to get there first. Ace understood, she knew, because he stopped the very second she asked him to do it.

She threw herself out of the saddle, her dismount jarring her bones, and shaking her mind. She had dismounted by herself for the first time. The milestone did not even register with her. She did not see a branch or anything even remotely suitable to grab, and she hated that she had forgotten to take rope. There was none on her saddle because tagalong Sammy wasn't expected to do any work. 

She almost fell to her knees as she dismounted. The force of her landing was absorbed as she moved forward, throwing her helmet off behind her. The rain soon plastered her hair to her head. It wasn't supposed to be raining this badly. The storm had come upon them unexpectedly.  

Time was running out, and Jake was almost near to her. He wasn't moving correctly, moving under his own steam, well enough. Sam doubted if he had enough oxygen. If she timed this right, he could reach out and grab her hand, if only he could get close enough, and the river cooperated.

Sam let her helmet fall to the ground, behind her, without thought. Finding the best spot, slip-sliding in the muddy bank, Sam rushed to the river's edge, almost falling twice. The third time she did go down, but she was close enough to the edge that she made her screaming senses do the work and used the fall to her advantage. Sam tried to distribute her weight as she felt her body hit the ground, pressing her weight down into the muddied bank of the river.

Sam's mind continued screaming. Her senses were all over the place, as ratcheted up as her thudding heart rate and the sweat pouring down her back, that was quickly building up under her jacket. Sam thought back to every bit of training she had, and slid out just a bit more than her mind said was okay. She would trust her training, not her erroneous mind.

She felt like she was dying. She felt every atom in her body was exploding. She breathed, in and out, until she realized that her breathing was deadly even. She was calm, focused. The rain was hurting her. The rain hurt. Her wrist was bare from where it slipped forward from under her jacket. The seam bunched and pressed.

Jake knew what this was. This was a rescue. He wasn't complying with the arm that reached out as far as she could as the current carried him near to her. "Grab!" She screamed, even though she knew he couldn't hear her yet.

He wasn't swimming well, but she hoped that somehow, he would listen to her for once in his life. "Jake!" She screamed, over the rushing river. She could barely see him, barely make out his form.

"Jake!" Her throat was clogging. She heard his voice telling her how to rescue someone from a river without any tools, heard him telling her what to do, but everything she knew wasn't enough. She was failing. No. Her body tensed, digging into the mud. Desperate that he see her, she screamed, "Jake!"

His head turned again, and Sam closed her eyes. She had to get out there, but her own brain was screaming at the sensations.

Sam pushed past her fear. There was no space for fear, now. There were bigger horrors coming to life right in front of her eyes. Sam didn't have to make a choice.

She inched closer to the edge, digging her toes into the mud, as the mud creeped up under her shirt. "Jake!" Her brain was screaming at her. The earth was spinning, become one with the terror in her mind, like some kind of twisted merry-go-round. She felt like she was going to fall into the river, but none of that mattered.

He did not have the right to let this happen to him. If they went down, they were going to go together, and damn it if she wasn't going to get him out. He had no right to do this to them. He had no right. Things weren't right between them, hadn't been for days, and... He had no right to go anywhere without her, the stupid, oh God, please. She was so sorry. Just let me do this, she prayed, just let him, just let him...

She pushed herself off of the bank a bit more, hating the ledge and the feeling of her left hand digging with all of her might into the clay and the dirt and the rocks. She heard hoofbeats, and the sound rocked her world, stole her equilibrium. She whimpered, feeling another wave of actually physical pain at the sound.

"Jake!" She screamed again, having caught sight of him again as he fought with the river.

The water was numbing her hand, soaking her arm, soaking her muddy body. She prayed that she would be able to grab and pull him to safety. Sam felt the brush of his fingers over the rushing water. She leaned out just a bit more, willing with everything she was that his hand would wrap around her wrist.

She knew that the fingers were real when she focused anew and saw him. She could not help but blink as water splashed into her face as the current rushed. She coughed. His hand was pulled away from hers by the water after a desperate second.

Large hands tried to pull her up, pull her off the edge of the bank. Sam dug in her harder. Sam didn't look up Adam. Time passed so slowly. Had they really just gotten here?

Sam focused with all of her might on getting Jake out of the river. "Jake!" She'd kill them all if he tried to move her. She'd peel the skin from their bodies. It wasn't time to give up. She couldn't let them, she couldn't let them, "Jake!"

"Sam!" Adam demanded. "You…" He kept talking. 

Sam ignored him, her focus on the rope he had, and was readying. Sam knew they wouldn't need it. "Jake!" She cut Adam off with a pained scream. 

Adam heard something in her voice. Jake must have heard her, too, because, there he was. There he was, and her hand gripped his wrist. The contact was the only thing Sam knew, the only solid thing she could trust.

"Don't! Don't...you..." Jake called, as he tried to pull himself her way, "Pull!" He was pulling oddly, pushing, pushing back. He was pushing. He was scared. People often pulled when they meant to push, and vice versa. Sam was almost weak with relief.

"I'm not going to let go!" She reaffirmed, shifting her weight, "I won't!" She shifted forward just enough to pull harder, get a better grip on Jake's solid, alive, and very real, wrist.

 

_They she just went crazy screamin' out his name_

_She ran out into the ocean and to this day they claim_

_That if you go down by the water you'll see her footprints in the sand_

_'Cause every night she walks the beaches of Cheyenne_

_They never found her body, just her diary by her bed_

_It told about the fight they had and the words that she had said_

_When he told her he was ridin'_

_She said then I don't give a damn_

_If you never come back from Cheyenne_

_The Beaches of Cheyenne,_  Garth Brooks

Hell, his chest hurt. His impromptu dip in the La Charla sent shivers down his spine. It was freezing. The water dripping into his eyes was annoying. He'd lost his hat. Damn it all. Jake hissed as he fumbled his way onto the bank.

Adam pulled him to sitting after yanking him out of the water like a drowned kitten with his tree-trunk arms. "X-rays." Jake bit out, quickly, finding that his breathing was easy now that he wasn't trying not to swallow water by the bucketful, or trying to keep Sam from pulling some stupid stunt. It hurt, but it didn't have the capacity to kill him. Both of the former issues did.

Adam nodded, looking him over, "We'll get you some. Do you think Buddy broke your ribs or can you sit up?" The rain was pelting them, soaking through their clothing. "You're breathing okay."

Jake flopped back in the mud. Thunder rumbled above them. He counted to ten inside his head, once to keep from grabbing Sam and putting her over his lap, and another time to prepare himself to sit up.

Jake pushed up to sitting, knowing that his ribs were, at worse, cracked, and at best, very badly bruised. "Not me." His eyes swept over Sam, covered in mud and shaking, "Her." Sam needed x-rays to check on her port. She was lucky if she hadn't pulled it out, yanking on him like she had been. She also needed her lines flushed.

"I don't need x-rays." She said, looking at Adam carefully, "Do you think he hit his head, maybe?" The rain had soaked her slim form. She looked slight and so very vulnerable.

What the hell had she been thinking, trying to pull him out, like he didn't outweigh her by at least a 100 pounds, even soaking wet as she was?

Jake almost swore. She was talking to him, not to Adam. She would look at him, listen to him, not to anybody else. "When I tell you to let go..." Jake felt along his ribs, and winced. His voice did not waver as he demanded her attention, "You let go, do you understand me?"

Adam's eyebrows flew to his hairline. His words were harsh, guttural, a demand. Jake didn't care what he had to say to make her listen. She would listen, if it was the last damn thing he ever made her do.

Sam wasn't phased by his tone, though he could see steel and pain in her eyes. He resisted the urge to apologize as her damp skin colored, and drained.

"I just saved your life, you know." She choked out, "The very least you could...could try and do...is..." Sam shut up then, because he knew that she was on the verge of tears, and she wasn't going to cry in front of Adam, nor Quinn or Seth, or even Nate. They were rushing towards him, forming a loose circle around where he was still sitting in the dirt, now that Buddy was settled.

He wanted to hold her and promise that everything was okay. Jake could not help the flash of anger and fear and terror that rushed through him. "You were two seconds from throwing yourself into that river with an open port in your arm!"

"For which you should thank me." Sam returned, shifting, taking the jacket that Quinn tossed over her. She looked so small in it. He knew she wasn't helpless. But it was not her damn job to go around on suicide missions because she didn't think about her actions.

If she had only looked, only stopped to think, she would have seen that the calvary was coming. She would have seen that their brothers had a plan in place, and were carrying it out, when they'd had to abandon it to follow her hasty lead.

He reached out to Seth wordlessly, who pulled him up with a little bit of help. He stepped back like an awkward colt when Sam took one step forward. "I  _won't_." He spoke around the pain.

He would not thank her for risking her life. He would not thank her for doing things she had no right to do. She had risked herself, her safety, in ways that were never, ever, okay. She had acted without reason, without thought. She had put her life in danger. How dare she ask that of him?

And what made it all the worse was that she was utterly okay with the idea. He had seen something he never wanted to see in her eyes, right as he'd broken the surface. In her vibrant eyes, he'd seen them dim. He'd seen a death wish in her eyes. He refused to consider it.

"Then don't." She said, in clipped, tight tones. She pushed to her feet in the embankment, and shifted, started moving towards her horse, using wide, ungainly movements."I didn't do it for you."

Quinn broke away, and followed her, obviously to soothe her feathers in the way that only he could. Jake fought the urge to rush after her, felt hate and rage as Quinn touched her shoulder.

"God damn it." Jake snapped. 

Adam's cool gaze was assessing, "What the hell was that? She went out on a limb for you, Jake, and you threw it in her face."

Jake shook his head. He wasn't discussing this with Adam. It made no sense. He should have...he should be...but he couldn't. She was not going to let him be the reason she...

Jake made a disgusted sound, and set off towards Witch. He did take a bit of pleasure in the fact that he jostled into Quinn, pushing him aside, when he could barely move himself.

_She's like a needle to a junkie, she's like whiskey to a drunk_

_She's like poker to a gambler, she's like a bullet in a gun_

_She's in his blood, he can't explain the rush when he gets with her_

_Might be the death of him, but he's addicted, man_

_He can't quit her_

_She was cool, she was hot, she was walkin' cross the parking lot_

_With some other guy_

_Well, he was jealous, he was jonsin'_

_And he wound up on the wrong end of a fourty-five_

_He Can't Quit Her_ , Gary Allen

Jake watched her dismount, watched her take up the reins to lead Ace into the barn. Before he could speak, Quinn leaned over and said something to her.

Jake slid from Witch's back, aching. The horse would be seen to before he would seek out his father. Adam grabbed the bridle, easily, "You go on, Jake."

Jake only went because Sam was halfway to the door. He did not want to talk to her. He did not want to scream at her, did not want to yell, but he found that he could not let her out of his sight. He had never, ever, been so angry at her.

She let the door slam behind her. The bang echoed in his mind. It was a message. She knew he was feet behind her. He guessed he was persona non grata right now because he had the gall to be angry at her for acting stupidly, for risking her life, for actively wanting to die.

Sam was suicidal, and he hadn't seen it because he was too mixed up in his own role in her feelings. But damn if he was going to let her use him to carry out her plans. The very thought made him sick as he headed towards the kitchen.

Maybe it was hypocritical of him, but anger was easier than guilt. Anger burned hotter than fear. And right now, he was nothing short of a massive wildfire. 

Sam was dripping on the tile, holding onto the table, because her wet boots made her slide on the glossy tile, and she no doubt felt like she was falling as her drenched jeans coated the wood bench.

Mom was standing over her. "We need to get you cleaned up, Sam."

"I'm just going to go." Sam shook her head, staring to push up.

The hell she was. Jake knew that if she tried to take one step out of here without some kind of medical evaluation, that he would not hesitate to be the bastard she thought he was.

Mom put a stalling hand on her shoulder, as she passed Sam a tea towel. It came away dirty. Jake refused to let himself think about bacteria. "The only place you are going, miss, is upstairs to the shower." Mom declared. "What in God's name happened?"

"Something that amounts to nothing." Sam said, with a shrug, staying put this time. Sometimes, even the most foolish people knew to listen to Mom. Jake couldn't still the pounding of his heart.

Mom was yanking on her laces of Sam's boots, as mud dropped on the floor, spoiling the clean floor. "A drenched, muddy, crying-"

"I am not  _crying_!" Sam exclaimed, as her left boot hit the floor. She was drawing her knees upward. She was in pain. She was in pain. She had subjected herself to that pain for his sake.

Mom looked taken aback at her vehemence, the anger in her voice. She looked up, then, from where she was helping Sam take off her boots, and saw him. "Oh."

Sam looked at him, then, and said, "Something you want to say?"

"Not to you." Jake replied. He had nothing to say to her right now, because if he spoke, he would tell her things that he would regret. He didn't want that between them. She had acted like a little girl, to prove that she was useful and needed, when she had never needed to prove that in the first place. It was the culmination of weeks of unspoken issues, and Jake did not want to have this out now.

He didn't have the words, even after all of this. 

Sam went completely red. Her ears looked like they were steaming. She left the room. He hated to see her go, took a step to follow her. He hated it when she cried.

Jake thought better of it when a sharp pain speared through him, and saw that Mom was staring.

The front door opened, and Dad called out, "Maxine. Quinn told me to come and see to Jake."

"And Quinn knows everything." Jake snapped, earning himself a stern look from his mother.

He was so irrationally angry with Quinn, so angry that Sam had gone to Quinn, that Quinn had been the one to see that she got home okay, that Quinn had been the one she'd looked to to keep her safe and centered as she scrambled into the saddle, that she had turned to Quinn. Her helmet was lying back in the mud somewhere, along the river, along with his hat.

"Jake..." She reproached him. "We'll talk after I go check on Sam."

Jake heard Sam's bare feet on the stairs, and knew that she had waited for him to follow her.

And he had failed again. He had failed again. He hadn't done the thing he should have done, the thing he'd wanted, and followed. 

There were only so many times he could fail, he knew, before he was down for the count. 

_In my bosom you're a dagger_

_You're a mangy carpetbagger_

_In the theatre you're the 'boo'_

_I can do without you_

_You got charms, they ain't bewitchin' me_

_You've a face no one would paint_

_I got the darndest itch in me_

_To be wherever you ain't_

_I Can Do Without You,_  Doris Day & Howard Keel

 

"I need you to open your shirt, Jake." Dad's clinician skills came to the fore. "Do you need help?"

There were about two or three contexts in which Jake wanted somebody else touching his buttons, and not one of them involved his father. Jake put his hands to his buttons, and tried to wrestle with the wet fabric. Annoyed with the both of them, he ignored the bolt of pain in his middle as he pulled the drying, cruddy, shirt over his head.

"My lungs are fine." Jake asserted, when Dad picked up his stethoscope. Mom had gotten him that one for Christmas some time back. It was digital. But Dad wasn't moving as he stared at Jake.

Something in the room shifted as Adam said, "Well. That explains a lot."

Jake looked down. His chest was bare because his undershirt had come away with his shirt. 

Jake was confused, until he looked again, and saw something that had become something comforting and real to him. It was new to them, though. And it was very likely very telling. 

His chest was bare, and while that was nothing his family hadn't seen before, the turtle was new to them. Looks, heavy with meaning, were flying around the room.

Jake didn't know what to say. It was none of their goddamned business. That wary look on his father's face was like a kick in the gut. He wasn't going to sit there and tell his father that they weren't together. That was a lie. He would never attempt to pass of some half-truth, never about that. There were certain things he was willing to live and die by, and that lie was one that was never going to pass his lips. His fidelity was never going to be for sale again. 

He knew what his father was thinking about, though. He had, on his birthday, promised his father that he would never cross that line into sex with an underaged girl, no matter who she was or how much he loved her. The word Sam had never passed his father's mouth, and yet they both weren't stupid. Looking back, it had only been a matter of time.

They weren't having sex, not exactly, if somebody was going to be really hair-splittingly technical about it, if they defined sex as some heteronormative act of penetration. Jake was rather glad, for the first time in weeks, that their sex life, just like the rest of their communication and unity, sucked right now.  Jake wanted, for a fleeting second, to make sure that his father knew that he had kept his promise to honor Sam, to be a partner to her, to understand that her needs came first. 

Then he looked around again. He was not a bug on display, and their relationship wasn't anyone's business as long as they weren't hurting each other or being recklessly unsafe. Angry as he was at Sam, he understood now, her reaction after Wyatt had learned about the bear. He felt differently, though. He could not bring himself to care what they thought. He only felt annoyance that his private life had been put on display today, for their consideration and input. He wasn't going to spill the beans that they were holding off on certain types of sex because they both knew damn well they weren't ready. 

Adam blew out a breath. 

Jake sat in stoney silence. This wasn't something he wanted to take back. No matter how pissed Sam was at him, or he at her, there were some things that never would change. Jake heard, in the spreading silence, the water turn on upstairs.

Dad finally moved. After a few minutes, he said, "Go on and take a shower. In your own bathroom, please. We'll wrap you up after."

Jake wasn't even out of the room before voices rose in speculation. 

 

_Listen to the wind blow, down comes the night_

_Run in the shadows_

_Damn your love, damn your lies_

_Break the silence_

_Damn the dark, damn the light_

_And if you don't love me now you will never love me again_

_I can still hear you saying you would never break the chain_

_The Chain_ , Fleetwood Mac

 

Sam watched the flow of the water long after the browned water turned clear. The door opened again. Sam cleared her throat, "I'm fine, Max. Really."

"I'm not Mom." Jake said, from the other side of the curtain, his soft voice filling the room under the sound of the water.

Sam tried to still the spinning of her head. She was in sensory overload. This was not a good time to want to scream and cry. Her voice was a careful monotone, "I don't want you in here."

"I don't want to be in here." Jake replied, harshly. He shifted. Sam figured that was his way of telling her that he wanted the shower. Good for him. She was done with it. She was done.

Sam turned off the water. "Then choose something else." She fumbled with her nightgown, covering herself before she opened the curtain to add, "Go somewhere else."

Sam took the hand that reached out, when she had swung her feet around the chair. The wall of the shower was muddy from her handprint when getting in, and she did not want to get dirty again. Jake did not reply as she stood, and Sam knew, somehow, though he had violated her trust and trampled upon her respect, that he would never use her injury to dominate her or hurt her. Angry as he was, his hands were gentle until she was safely sitting on the lid of the toilet.

"There are sharps in here." Jake returned, yanking the hair-tie out of his hair, snapping it with such force that it flew off somewhere. The curtain of the shower was yanked shut.

Sam stared at the pile of wet clothing on the floor, tears filling her eyes.

Well, maybe he wasn't as noble as he had once been. How dare he use those moments against her. She was not suicidal. She was not. She had spent the last decade, it felt like, trying to save their lives. No suicidal person did that, or at least she would never had considered it when she was suicidal. But fuck him if she should have to justify her mental health to him. "Oh, fuck you."

Fuck him. He was the one who had been shutting down and shutting her out, and then acted so fucking high and mighty? What an unmitigated ass. 

Sam knew that she had been louder than she'd wanted to be, because he'd clearly heard her very well over the water. It was hard to modulate her tones over the water. She had all but screamed at him. He sensory overload was just getting worse with the spray of the water, the scent of the shampoo she had left in the tub lathering over his hair, and the movement of the curtain.

"Do not spew profanities at me. Do not." Jake cut in, voice like barbed wire. "I won't hear you demean yourself with words like that."

What a cop out. If he was going to police her way of saying what needed to be said, that meant he wasn't invested in actually listening. "No, you don't want to hear anything! Whatever. I'm done." Sam said, "I'm done. I'm done being treated like some broken, pitied, pathetic creature who should count herself lucky to be waiting for you to pull your head out of your ass long enough to see what you had beside you."

"Seems to me you were done when you decided to throw yourself in that river." Jake was as cold as she had ever heard him, as emotionless and blank as a stranger. He sounded angry, angry in the way that he rarely became, silent and cold. Something told her he was scared.

Let him be afraid, she decided. She didn't need his pity, didn't need any of this.

"Let me make something very clear to you." Sam bit out, her eyes slamming such as her body betrayed her, her words soaking up whatever energy she had. "I got your sorry skin out of that river. I did. Me. And then for you to stand there and tell me that I..."

The water shut off, and the curtain pulled open. Sam drew her knees up so that she didn't have to so much as touch him as he moved out of the tub. " No, you listen..."

"I am done listening! Done!" Sam stood up, grabbled the sink, her body too tense and pained to sit, "I'm finished with conversations being over when I come to the room! I'm so tired of the lies, the secrets. I just didn't know you were lying to yourself, too!" Her voice dropped and grew deadly silent, "I didn't know you honestly believed that I can't do this."

 

 

_We tried to work it out a hundred times, ninety- nine it didn't work._

_I think it's best we put it all behind before we wind up getting hurt._

_No hard feelings darling, no regrets, no tears and no broken hearts._

_Call it quits, calling off all bets, it just wasn't in the cards._

_Easy Come, Easy Go,_  George Strait

No one looked at him as Dad passed him a clean shirt. Mom had gone upstairs, obviously to see to Sam. Everyone had heard them screaming at each other. They had provided the free show for the evening, that much was clear.

But he couldn't hide from her forever. He could let his confusion reign and not work this out. He was not willing to let this go. Evidently, neither was Sam, because she was sitting on his bed, looking at his phone when he came into the room to think about how on earth he was going to talk to her about this. How could she ever think that he saw her as anything other than strong and unquestionably capable and powerful. 

"Your phone rang." Jake shut the door behind him as the words washed over him. Sam was looking at her lap, staring at his phone. She looked up, and her eyes were red. "I spoke to Matrona."

Thank God, Thank Jesus and God and...and... "Yeah?" Now that the secret everyone was forcing him to keep was out, he didn't have to deal with this secret anymore. He could explain everything, and then she could take her turn, and maybe then, maybe he would understand, and he wouldn't be so furious with her. Maybe if they could just be brutally honest, their life together wouldn't be such a mess. 

"She told me that she's helping you work through some stuff. She said it's stuff you both can't tell me. She said..." Sam looked directly at him, eyes like steel. "It doesn't matter what she says. It matters what I say. And I..I misunderstood everything. And I..."

"And you?" Jake's mouth was dry. Sam wasn't happy about this trip, clearly. She clearly saw his part in her betrayal, would see the attempts at joy in the aftermath not as a way to protect her and honor her, but as him trying to protect his skin. Jake regretted that more than she would ever know.

"I never wanted this for us. It's been my biggest fear since, well, whatever." He remembered her saying something like this, that night on the swing. Sam's voice broke, "That you could go to her, Matrona of all people, to talk about things, but not to me, is, well. It's just not right."

"No, no it's not." Jake said, "But..." He wanted to make her see, and then they could get to the real issue here. Dad, he guessed, had looked at her port, looked at everything, and she was fine. The bandages and her clothing had protected her arm, thank God.

Sam cut him off softly, "But I knew. I knew that this would happen. I knew. And still I threw myself over."

"You knew what would happen?" Jake all but bit out as he stood there, not sure what she was saying.

"That when our relationship shifted, that there would come a day that you didn't see a friend when you looked at me." Sam said, her hands twisting in her nightgown. "If you still knew that I am your friend before anything else, you would be telling me what's hurting you so badly, that you can't even be glad that you're not sucking in lungfuls of water."

It hit him like a freight train. She had seen his guilt, seen the pain he had tried to hide. Jake knew what was going to happen. The moment was so heavy between them. He could barely breathe, "Jake, I think we should..."

"No." The word was strangled as he he forced it out. He had betrayed her trust, and he was losing her, losing her because he had tossed his hat, however unwittingly into the ring with Wyatt. "You don't know what..."

"I'm not going to lose you." Sam declared, "If doing what I have to do hurts now, we just have to trust that the right thing is happening, even if it's the last thing we might want." She was staring him down, begging him to go along with this. He wasn't going to give her her way, not like this."But I am not going to lose you."

"You don't even sound like you." Jake pushed his toes into the carpet to make sure he was still awake, still alive. "I'm not going to let you do this. Not when it isn't something you want."

"Stop dismissing me!" Sam insisted, pushing to her feet, "For weeks, it's been conversations behind closed doors, whispered asides that don't include me, and there's this huge wall, and I can't...I can't cope." She sat back down, her knees literally folding without action on her part. Jake saw the shock on her face as she sank back down onto the bed, "At first I thought it was just about the ranch, and then, then I saw you in that river, and I _knew_. It's got nothing to do with the drive. All that mattered was you knowing that I had your back. That's been the problem from the get-go. You don't think I've got your back."

Jake knew that. She had his back so much that she was willing to risk her own life, forget what it meant to be reasonable, and that wasn't okay. "I know that, and I do trust you."

"You used to trust me." Sam corrected, looking him square in the eye, "Tell me to my face that months ago, you would have confided in me, no matter what you were expected to do. Tell me to my face that a year ago, that you wouldn't have blinked an eye at what I did for you. You did tonight. Everyone did. I've gotten 12 texts from my father, did you know? I won't give up our equality, not for anything, not even his love, or yours."

"This is not about the accident." Jake denied, knowing that the river had been a challenge she had faced head on in a way that she would have never needed to do, before the accident. And if she had pulled this stunt a year ago, he wouldn't be sitting here talking about it, because...because...he didn't know why, and he didn't care. "And I have never, not once, ever, said that you are anything less than the person you are, so don't even go there." She knew he was sensitive about it, and she was going for a low blow.

"So it's okay for you to say that I'm having suicidal thoughts, but I can't say that you're being a pig and projecting your own issues onto me?" Sam returned. "That bit about me being at risk was as low as I've ever seen you go, by the way."

"I saw it in your eyes, Sam. I saw it!" Jake made his point clear. He'd been in that river, and he'd seen that blackness in her eyes, that utter lack of the light that was her soul. "And you say you didn't do that for me, but you did! You didn't care about what could have happened to you tonight. You acted without one thought to self-preservation."

"I didn't do it for you. I did it for me." Sam stressed. "I'm not going to lie and say I can't live without you. I can. I just don't want to, and you don't get to say when we go. And your blood isn't going to be on my hands, nor Buddy's."

"This isn't about Buddy." Jake said, suddenly, not liking having to think about her blood, "You're angry about Matrona."

"No. You've the right to have friends." Sam pushed to her feet, and moved toward the door, "I just wish I was one of them."

_You can be so stubborn there's times I think you just like to fight_

_And I hope and pray I live to see a day when you say I might be right_

_And there's times I'd rather kill you than listen to your honesty_

_But you've always been a friend to me_

_A Friend to Me_ , Garth Brooks


	3. The Storm

_Lately you've forgotten what loving me is about_

_Well, now you've got five minutes to figure it out_

_You've got five minutes to tell me what I've needed to hear_

_You've got five minutes to show me that you're really sincere_

_That's not much time to change my mind_

_It'll take a miracle no doubt_

_And you've got five minutes to figure it out_

_Five Minutes_ , Lorrie Morgan

It was surprisingly easy, Sam thought, to avoid each other in a house filled with people. Jake did what he always did when he was annoyed and upset, and went and hid in the garage or the barn.

Sam considered going back to River Bend, but by the time she got off the phone with Dad, Gram was on the phone and fussing and Sam just did not have the energy to cope with that level of concern. She didn't want to have to face Gram, because Gram would know, because Max had told her, and she would want to talk, and Sam didn't know what to say.

What was there to say, after all of this? 

So Sam hid in her room, pretended like she didn't care that her relationship was the talk of the ranch. She didn't care that half of the eastern half of the county was probably talking about her. Her family did little else.

She did not go to the barn, because if she saw Jake right now, she would ram him in the shin with the wheelchair, really, really, really hard. Sam's hands tightened involuntarily at the thought, at the rush that went through her. 

Time passed and that fantasy grew less and less enjoyable.

And the anger, well, it evaporated like the boiling water it really was, and left only condensed fear and worry behind.

Sam wanted to scream. Staring at the wall was giving her mental clarity. She hated the paint color, always had, but hating the paint wasn't bad. After all these years, it had grown on her, and she'd sooner blow the house up than repaint her room. 

There was a ding in the paint, a tiny flake gone, maybe from her elbow. It was a speck the shape of Missouri. 

Sam had to face the truth. 

This wasn't about being left out of the drive. She was hurt about that, yeah, but she still had some involvement. They couldn't be talking about much in those meetings. It wasn't like she didn't have some idea of what was going on, and if push came to shove, she would handle it.

She would have no choice. She was tired of feeling like a poseur in her own life, and she knew how to deal with those feelings. 

But these, these feelings, they were shredding her soul. 

But this whole thing with Jake, this whole thing was killing her. She had come so close to losing him only to realize that she had to let go. She had told him from the start that the loss of their friendship would be devastating, and it was. Her heart felt hollow, and tears welled every time she thought about it.

There were things he felt better telling Matrona simply because she was his girlfriend, or something. They had never given it a name, but that's what they were. They took care of each other, but they weren't friends anymore, hadn't been friends since so long ago, hadn't been friends since, well, Sam didn't know. Was it that night on the swing, where everything had changed? Was it the first time she'd confessed this desire, desire that rolled like wildfire in her veins, or had it been somewhere else that they had lost…lost everything. 

If they were friends, he wouldn't be worried about telling her what was going on in his life.

She wasn't going to be the little missus, not now and not never. Sam bit her lip at that thought. It seemed woefully accurate. 

But friends communicated. 

Max knocked on her door, an oddity in a house that had never really had many boundaries. 

It startled Sam. 

Sam didn't ask her to stay, and so, after checking in, Max left her alone.

Sam didn't even remember the words they used. 

Sam decided that she could not involve other people in this. This was their situation, theirs to resolve one way or another. If the resolution they came to was the dissolution of the romantic facet of their relationship, well, it would be okay.

She had tried to tell that to Jake, and he'd gotten this panicked and horrified expression on his face.

Sam hadn't known what to do. So she'd tried to explain. When he simply wouldn't listen, she left him to stew.

He needed to stew. They were hurt, and they needed to think.

But the time for thinking was over. If she had one more thought, she was going to curl in a ball and never leave her bed.

But hours later, Sam knew that if she wanted to sleep, she had to leave her bed. Her hair was ratty and unbrushed against her head, her feet bare against the carpet as she plodded, her heart thudding, down the hall. 

Sam pushed open the door. It didn't creak, and the fact that she had avoided the squeaky floorboard said something about how many hours she had passed tonight, thinking about getting up and walking down the hall.

She knew Jake was asleep, so this bordered a bit on awful, but if he woke up and didn't want her here, well, at least she would have gotten a scant few hours of sleep. She literally could not sleep, and her pain was both physical and mental.

Sam's knees were rubber. The room she entered was freshly tidied, deep greens and blues and browns. 

Sam perched on the edge of the bed, and prepared to scrunch herself up to fit on the edge that was available to her, when Jake slid over, and gave her room. He had been lying on her side of the bed, her pillow pulled over his head. "Can't sleep?"

Sam curled onto her side, gingerly keeping a space between them. "Doesn't mean we're cool." Sam said, "I think we have a better shot at being rational if we can sleep." This was nothing personal. They just needed each other to sleep. It could be a simple thing, Sam knew, but it wasn't simple at all.

There was emotional relief at being in the same room again that had nothing to do with their sleeping habits.

"Rational." Jake pushed blankets towards her. Sam saw his movements for what they were, pained and stilted.

Rage and fear shot through her as she thought about his ribs. Sam kicked up her feet as he pulled them so that the seams wouldn't irritate her skin. It was dark, so she felt every thread in the fabric even more intensely. "Right. Like you get to come off as so high and mighty."

Sam inhaled, and her resolve fled. She had planned to come in here, and just sleep. She snapped, like a few strands of dried pasta over a pot of rolling water. "What's that mean?"

Sam understood. So he had had time to think, and had come up with everything she had done to make this whole mess worse. He volleyed her supposed transgressions at her, so as to let himself off the hook. "You didn't tell me you weren't going on the drive."

Too bad. She wasn't interesting in playing tit-for-tat over this. It was what it was, and they couldn't change the past.

Sam tried to be calm, as she lifted her head off of the pillow. "Did I need to tell you?"

He had needed to tell her what was going on in his life, because he was keeping secrets, hiding things. She hadn't needed to say a word, because she had been open, wide open and transparent about her actions and choices, something he could not claim. 

She wasn't lording that over him, but oh, how she wished to. 

Jake faltered, stopping with a jerky movement and pulling his hand back as he reached over to hold her. She wasn't sure, at first, if he was replying to her or reminding himself that he did not want to touch her. "No."

The withdrawal was knife in her heart.  

She remembered thinking that his physical withdrawal would hurt more than his emotional withdrawal had hurt back in the city. 

She'd been right. They'd tried to work through that, they had worked through that. 

And now, now, they weren't working. 

Sam missed his closeness, missed their unity, even as they were right here talking to each other other. They were right here, but he wasn't really listening. "Well, it was pointless to hash it out, then." Sam said, "It was a hard choice, and now it's done, and I deal with the consequences."

Was this, Sam wondered, a consequence of not being who she had once been? 

Her strident tone did not sit well with the man next to her. She would have to deal with the consequences of her choices. She alone had to deal with knowing that he was alive tonight, alive to hate her, instead of dead, and knowing that he loved her. Sam found that she didn't regret that choice. She would never regret it, no matter what came after it.

"Who are you, seriously?" Jake snapped, "John Wayne?" Flinging on the light, next to the bed, he was tense and awake.

She heard him hiss in pain as he moved. The snap of the lamp echoed in her mind. Her senses were all over the place, but she wasn't going to swallow her pride and admit that to him. She wanted the darkness, wanted to let it swallow her whole.

"I am trying to be sensible!" Sam returned, sitting up, her hand digging in the sheet for grip and control as her head spun, "You're not the one who almost lost you today, so don't challenge my coping skills, okay, because I really don't know what to do here. You could have died. So don't tell me I'm not handling it well, because..."

Sam heaved a breath and tried to calm down. She was sitting up, her muscles were tense and aching. She could not deal with thinking about this. He could have died.

He could have died. 

And then...what? And then what? He didn't have that right, not to go like that, with all of this hovering between them.

Jake was clearly angry, though Sam knew his concern was winning out. He probably wasn't happy about that, as he liked holding his grudges. "I'm telling you that trying to lock it all out only makes it hurt worse."

"But you could have..." Sam swallowed, vision blurring, "It feels too much like I'm back  _there_ , at the start again, and I can't...go through that again."

She couldn't go back there, in any way, shape, or form. She couldn't let that happen. She had worked too hard to crawl out of that hellpit in her soul to ever go back there without a fight. She couldn't do it, and to feel herself sliding back into that frame of mind, if not that location, was the most terrifying thing that could be happening to her.

She had always wondered, in some dark part of her soul, what it would be like if she and Jake weren't friends, or if he didn't want to be friends with her. It was hell on earth, worse than the hospital and the rehab, even in her darkest moment.

"Sam, you don't have to be scared." There was a tenderness to Jake's voice that Sam refused to accept. It was easy for him to say that to her. He wasn't back here, again, having to make choices she didn't want to make because her back was to the wall. He wasn't giving up something else on the alter of survival, in the hope that he would one day be able to live.

Sam used the bottom of her sleep-shirt to dry her eyes, hating the vulnerability that was so clearly visible in the action. Her defensive tone was a balm to her aching heart,"Like you're not."

"At least I can admit it." Jake didn't back down. He seemed to be content to dish it back out right now. "You're pushing me away, when you swore you wouldn't do that."

 _She_ was pushing them apart? She wasn't the one having secret relationships with her friends, secret conversations with her brothers, shutting her out of everything that mattered because there were things he didn't feel comfortable telling her, Matrona said, because, as Matrona had said,  _every man needed secrets from his girlfriend._

If their relationship drove them apart, then that's what would end. But how could he view this as her pushing him away? Sam exhaled. She had developed enough self-awareness to see the truth, no matter how much it hurt. They were going to have to have this out, now.

Sam knew that it would be better to talk anyway.

And then his phone buzzed.  _Buzz. Buzz. Buzzzzzzz…_

The vibrations were loud against the wood of his nightstand. Sam saw that it was within easy reach, like he was waiting for someone and didn't want to have to crawl out of bed to get it. Long gone were the days that his phone would be lost in the truck, in a saddle bag, in his dresser, because he forgot to charge it, and she hated Matrona for that change in him.

She wanted to tear it away from him, smash it. 

She watched, still as death, as his fingers flexed. 

He had a choice. This choice was his alone. 

Sam prayed he would pick her, pick her, and not pick up the phone. If he picked her, picked her over whatever else was going on, then she would know that he…that he...

_Oh, God, please. Don't._

He picked it up, his brown eyes moving away from her as he picked up the phone. He had picked up the fucking phone, when she was sitting here, ready to talk, ready to resolve their relationship issues, ready to settle this fight so that they could move forward, and decide some pretty huge facets of their future.

And still, knowing that, knowing what was on the line, he picked up the phone.

Sam thought he probably heard some concrete part of her heart, the part that had always known that she was first and foremost in his mind and in his heart, break. It was part of the bedrock of her soul, and it shattered like dust. 

The wound, larger and brighter with pain than the loss of his friendship had seemed, pulsed with loss and awareness. She might not have been his friend, but at the very least, she had always been first in his life. 

That was gone. Awareness, pain, anger like none she had never known paralyzed her. 

She could barely breathe. She heard a sharp inhalation freeze in her lungs. 

"Sam..." Jake said, as his fingers slid along the screen. The expression on his face as he read the words was not something she could easily read. She had never seen that look on his face, seen the way his eyebrows drew together, and it scared her.

He hadn't picked her. The Universe had given him a choice, and she hadn't been his first choice. So, she was no longer his best friend, and he was acting like a crummy boyfriend. This was just great. Air froze in her lungs. She wheezed as she tried to breathe, like a spacer who moved too quickly. She couldn't help it.

Someone else was giving him something she never could.

She had not pushed him away. He had chosen someone else. 

He had made the choice that ended them, not her. 

She had vowed she would never play second fiddle to anybody, never. 

And knowing that, knowing that they were on the precipice of having an actual discussion, he'd chosen someone else. 

"Sam, please." He knew, Sam knew. He knew the consequences of his choices just now. 

Sam could hear it. 

Sam didn't want to hear him beg, didn't want reasons, explanations. There were no words that could overpower these actions. She'd put her cards on the table earlier, and he had just now. She couldn't...couldn't...

Sam was trying to scoot as close to the edge as she could get. She hated that she didn't want to leave the bed. She wouldn't be coming back here, not again, and she was going to have to take what the Universe had given her. Tomorrow.

Tomorrow she would vacate this space in the world she'd created. Jake didn't want her as a friend, and she wouldn't stay as some girlfriend. He had made a choice, and she was not going to live the life of a reactionary. 

She had agency. She was not going to tell him, in word or in action, that any of this was okay. All or nothing. That had been on the line.

Sam swallowed, and the air in her lungs felt like knives slicing her apart. "Forget it. You're not in the right frame of mind to talk, and I don't even want to look at you right now." Sam said, though it hurt to even form the words.

Self-honesty, Sam realized, as Jake turned off the light and settled in next to her, frozen with emotions Sam could not name, hurt like no lie every could.

She fell asleep thinking of Matrona's voice, the teasing tone that dripped with intimacy. 

Sam wished she could make herself believe that he was cheating on her, in some pedestrian sexual way. 

 _He drops everything to talk to me, I feel so special. He's so patient._ Matrona had said, _You might know the boyfriend, Sammy, but it seems I know the person._

 

I  _can't waste another minute_

_After all that I've put in it_

_I've given you my best_

_Why does she get the best of you?_

_I'm so tired of being lonely_

_You can't give me what I need._

_There is one thing you should know_

_I don't have to live this way..._

_Stay,_ Sugarland

 

Jake didn't sleep, even with Sam next to him, her tense body slowly going slack as she fell asleep. He had seen her consider leaving again, but had felt her choose to stay, choose to stand her ground, refuse to retreat even in the face of his betrayal of her.

He should tell her. He had nearly done so a million and one times. He should tell her. She was shutting him out because she thought they weren't friends.

She was, like he knew she always would, was walking away, pulling back, because he'd betrayed her trust. 

The fact that she would risk her life for him, when she thought that he was going to leave her, struck him to the core. He honestly had taken a few hours to calm down, and he was still angry at her, but the anger was slowly turning to this pain and confusion in not knowing if he had done the right things, expressed himself so as to make himself understood.

He had never been so angry at anyone, or anything. 

She had no right to do what she had done today. They would be talking about that, that he knew.

She had no right to risk herself, Ace's safety, the safety of their family, to go off and do something stupid and impulsive.

She knew better. Jake owned his anger at that choice she made. He was angry at her, angry to the point that he wanted to demand that she explain herself, that she, for one second, had to tell him what was going through her mind.

As he lay there in the passing night, Jake realized that Sam honestly believed that he was going to die. It made him pause, made him roll over and make sure that she was still there. It made sweat break out over his pores to think about how he had felt thinking the same thing.

He'd tear apart the world for her, risk his very soul. At least that's what he said to himself.

But Sam, Sam, she had put her money where his mouth was. She had risked her life, risked everything he'd ever loved, to do what she thought needed to be done, to save him.  

She had done the very thing that he'd never really had to do, done it without question, without thought.

Her bravery made his posturing, even posturing in his own mind, pale in comparison. 

How could he fault her, for acting as she had? He didn't agree with her choices, and didn't like that she had been so very rash, but really, how could he possibly fault her for doing the same thing he would have done, even if he wouldn't have done it in the same way?

He knew that if that he had been in her boots, he would have thrown himself in the river and hauled her out, or died trying. 

As dawn broke over the horizon, Jake knew that he had to tell her.

He had woken up, twined around Sam like he had every other morning forever, and he knew that he had to tell her. Nothing was worse than knowing they were both wrong.

He knew he had been cowardly. He just didn't want to tell her why he hadn't told her, and at this point, Jake thought, starting up at the ceiling, at this point, well, she was going to ask.

And what was he going to say? Jake didn't know how to express that, in one moment where he should never have done it, he had listened to his brothers. They said that Sam would appreciate the surprise, that women liked them, or some stupid crap like that. Who knew? They just kept talking, and then they said that he'd better not tell her.

With a growing knot of unease, Jake knew he had forgotten something important, something that made Sam correct, at least in part. He did not want to tell her that he had forgotten, with everything his brothers and Darrell had been saying, that Sam was Sam.

She was very much a woman, but he knew her, knew the woman she was, knew her beyond the stereotypes that his brothers had been perpetuating, and he had forgotten to see her as the person she really was. He regretted that, because nothing they ever did would fundamentally change who she was, and he had discounted what he knew for what he had been told that ought to be in their relationship.

He wasn't going to even mention that he had given into their peer pressure.

"Sam." Jake whispered, placing his hand on her shoulder. She hadn't slept well. If he woke her up now, told her this, they could get maybe another half-hour of decent sleep. He knew now why everyone always said never to go to bed angry. Nobody slept, and he'd stewed all night. "Please."

Sam's eyes opened, sleepies in the corner of her eyes. She licked her dry lips. Obviously, she had taken more pain medication last night than she typically chose to take. Jake knew that this fight was weighing heavily on her.

It was killing him. He had done this, at the root of it all. 

"What?" She said, slowly. Her eyes were clouded with sleep. Jake hated that he could pinpoint the exact second she recalled every detail of the fight they'd had. Her body language shifted, her smile faded, and her eyes grew pained in the space of a single instant.

"Matrona's coming to visit while we're on the drive." Jake said, surprised to have the knot in his stomach ease, just a bit, when Sam went tense next to him in what he prayed was surprise and anticipation, and not rage.

"Why tell me now?" She asked, slowly.

There was no joy in her voice. It was plain, flat, hidden.

They were leaving in less than two days. If he could have only made it another 24 hours, this whole thing would have been in the past, and his brothers would have been pleased that a plan that they'd co-opted from Wyatt had gone off without a hitch. She would go to pick up Matrona this afternoon, none the wiser.

He would have been normal. Their family would be relieved. He would see a fond smile on Grace's face, and his brothers, brothers who had treated him with kid gloves and shut him out for months, would approve of him. 

It was something he wanted, wanted so badly. 

Jake knew what he was risking if he waited another second to be honest.

He knew that he had lost everything, last night. 

"I should have told you sooner." Jake admitted, "I feel..." Jake always struggled with using feeling words, but he tried, tried really hard to find some, "Sad."

"You hurt me." Sam said, simply, not telling him he shouldn't feel as he did. She accepted his emotions. "You shut me out. The things you did made me feel alone, feel like I'm second fiddle." Sam said, "And you put someone else, someone who shouldn't even matter ahead of me, and still when I put you first, you thew it in my face, like you don't want that because you don't want to give it, and here you are, waking me up in the morning on pins and needles because she's coming."

"No." Jake said, wondering how the hell this had gotten so fucked up. "No. I have always..."

"Don't lie to me!" Sam hissed, turning away, before looking back, a harsh breath passing her lips. "I told you I don't care who you talk to, what the hell you do…"

"You think I want to play go between on this little scheme! You think I like knowing that I sold you out? You think it's been easy, having to listen to everyone tell me not to tell you, and then having to take the lead on it, all the while knowing that you wouldn't want this, want her here…"  

"This visit, it isn't something you, you wanted?" She paused, something flashing in her eyes. It looked like hope. Sam blinked twice, "This wasn't your idea, was it?"

Jake admitted the truth. "It was Wyatt's idea. And then Quinn got involved. And then everybody, everybody but you, and I knew you wouldn't want this, wouldn't want some fuss made over the fact that you're not going, and so I..." Jake didn't have the words to continue.

He hadn't had the guts to put the breaks on this when the implications became clearer and clearer. He hadn't been fast enough to see the consequences. It had taken on a life of his own, and he had struggled with knowing that he was the Judas in all of this. His loyalty was to Sam, he owed her that, would sooner die than hurt her, and in this, he knew that he was culpable for her pain. It was a hard load to carry.

Everyone had said he was doing the right thing, the nice thing. 

But it felt wrong, it felt wrong and horrible. 

He knew that she would never have wanted the fact that she wasn't going on the drive to be presented as a vacation in any way, shape, or form. She was a proud person, and he wanted her to know that he respected the work she did around here. She needed that validation, that respect of being treated like the hard worker she really was, even though her jobs had shifted as she healed. "And I didn't stand up to them."

Sam pulled her knees closer to her body. "Jake. You and Matrona talk about...?"

"I don't..." Jake evaded. They talked about her, mostly. It made him feel awkward. He didn't like talking to her, not alone. It was annoying and pointless and it didn't feel right. 

Jake didn't want to admit that Matrona teased him, but he knew that the time for holding back had passed. "You. Russian TV. Hell if I know."

Matrona just went on and on and on, never understanding that he wasn't glued to his phone. Matrona and he spent the most time arguing and sniping, and not in any way that was even remotely enjoyable.

Talking to Matrona stressed him out.

She annoyed him, expected that he would jump to talk to her, and chewing him out if he didn't answer right away. He'd put up with her for Sam's sake, but for no other reason would he deal with her. He liked her enough, but he wished that she did not have his cell phone number.

Sam bit her lip. Her eyebrows pulled together, and Jake knew that she was worried. "So you're not talking about crop rotation and that new saddle Jen got?"

Jake stared at her, watched as she shifted uneasily on their bed. Jake sat up to look at her. Why would she even... Jake blinked. He blinked again, hoping his ears were on the fritz. Matrona wasn't his friend, not like she was Sam's, and he wasn't keen to involve Matrona, not that he ever got a word in.

"Or, you know, like about..." She sighed. "I don't know. I thought maybe you were..." Sam shrugged.

Pieces clicked into place for Jake. She had been feeling left out, and she hadn't said as much. He had seen the undercurrents in her teasing that he saw now, understood now with the soft hesitation in that single question. The hopeful inflections in her voice over the last few weeks took on new meaning. "You... _you_...got jealous of Matrona?"

Sam sat up then, pulled away from the hand he'd placed on her back to help her sit up. She did not look at him, but he saw her swallow as he looked away.

She planted her palms flat on the mattress so that she wouldn't flop over. Sitting on soft surfaces without the benefit of bending her knees was hard for her.

Jake put a hand on her arm. "Sam." He pushed away the blankets, and somehow ended up facing her. They couldn't have this conversation side-by-side, that much he knew. Words wouldn't tell the whole story here.

"It's like pulling teeth to get words out of you, is all, and I think maybe there are things going on with you that you didn't feel comfortable telling me." Sam allowed, even though Jake knew she wasn't telling the whole story. He could see it in the tilt of her chin.

"I don't understand." He honestly did not get any of this. She had this look on her face, one he really could not read.

He wanted to understand, though. He wanted to get this. There were so many things that he did not understand about Sam, so many things, but this, this was the top of the list. How could she think that there were things he did not tell her, when she was the only person who actually understood? "You don't need to be jealous, if that's..."

"I am not jealous of your friends, which of course you are entitled to having." Sam deflected, haughtily. "I just like thinking you don't trust my judgement."

"You know I trust you." Jake corrected. "Don't even..."

Sam didn't look convinced. "Oh, yeah, because..."

"You know." Jake insisted. She knew. There was one person he trusted to have his back when it was against the wall. He trusted his parents, his brothers, Darrell. But with Sam, he knew that she was counting on him, counting on him to have her back in the same way that she had his, and that made all the difference. "But trusting you, Sam, doesn't mean I'm just going to go along with whatever you do."

Having her back meant that he had an obligation that bordered on sacred to do the hard work of confronting a very strong woman who very often did know best. "You could have ripped out your port, or you..."

"You're conflating things." Sam broke in, running her fingers of the tender skin of her wrist. She was on the edge of stimming. She was likely very stressed on a physical level. What she had done had probably shaken her senses to the point that they still weren't right. He could see it in her jerky movements, the way she was holding her frame. "We're talking about this...thing with you, you, utterly and equivocally rejecting our friendship. Not your behavior last night."

Jake didn't rise to her bait. "We need to talk about that..." Jake shifted, and giving Sam enough time to deny him, nudged her gently, framed her space with his arms in a way that he knew would help her. His ribs were aching, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered but this. It made all other topics secondary to the one question that most needed to be asked. "Where are we going from here?"

"I don't want to fight with you. Not like this. I should have done more to tell you what I feel. You can't literally read my mind, and I need to work through some stuff." Sam's eyes were centimeters from his, wide and green. "I just need to know, Jake, what we are, what you want, because I want your friendship, but I'm not going to be second fiddle to anybody. So I don't know where we're going. I was in so much pain last night, still am, but I don't know that I…I'm okay with things I thought I'd made up my mind about."

"I'm sorry, too. I listened to people over you, and I shouldn't have done that. Not just because I love you, Sam..." And he loved her to desperation, loved her to the point that he didn't know who he would be without her love, without the love he gave in return, "But because you're my best friend, and friends don't do that."

And then her eyes filled with tears and the space between them was too great. "You could have been seriously hurt, Jake, and there would have been so much..." Sam cleared her throat, and shivered. "And what made it worse was that you didn't trust me to get you out."

And that was the straw that broke the camel's back. Jake put his head on her shoulder, bracketing her back with his arms, simply because he couldn't hold her like he was aching to do, because of his ribs. "I did, Sam." Her skin was warm from sleep, soft against his cheek.

There would have been so much they had said, so much that they hadn't meant to say. Jake thought that would probably hurt worse than all the things that they would never get to do, if he had been taken from her, though he knew that there had never been any real danger of that happening. She thought there was, though, and now wasn't the time to correct her.

Sam shuddered, and put her hand in his hair, let her fingers fall onto his neck. "And it scares me, the thought of even having to live in a world that doesn't have you in it, and you would have been hurt knowing that I was angry at you, and what if something had happened and you forgot, or if we forgot, and then..."

Jake looked into her eyes then. "That's not how it works, Sam, that's never been how it works, and it never will be. You still love me, even when you want to kick me, and no matter how mad we get, that's not going to change what we are."

Sam frowned, "I never said I wanted to kick you."

Jake grinned. He knew her, and that would never change, even when he didn't quite understand her. "Doesn't mean I don't know that you did."

 

 

_She's waitin' by the window_

_When he pulls into the drive_

_She rushes out to hold him_

_T_ _hankful he's alive_

_But on the wind and rain_

_A strange new perfume blows_

_And the lightnin' flashes in her eyes_

_And he knows that she knows_

_The Thunder Rolls,_ Garth Brooks  

Sam was spinning around, rushing to get things done. She couldn't let on that she knew Matrona was coming, but she couldn't help that the knowledge changed her mind and her actions. Insofar as her and Jake, there were still things they needed to work out, but at least they were talking again.

She knew, too, that they needed time to make choices. Ending things now, well, they wouldn't be much of an ending. They needed to figure this out. Sam knew that she had been angry last night, rightly so, but angry to the point of rashness. 

They were taking steps in the right direction. Jake had come clean. Sam had, too. She saw, now, that it wasn't Matrona's approval that Jake was desperately seeking, but their brothers. He hadn't said as much, but it was clear as a bell. He'd gone along with their scheme to feel included, to feel like he belonged. 

Sam would give anything, anything, just to feel that way, for a fleeting second. 

She was trying not to be jealous. In truth, she really, really, couldn't blame him for doing something she might have done in similar circumstances. 

Sam was just happy that today wasn't as awful as she had anticipated."Dad?"

Sam held onto the box on her lap as she coasted to a stop. "Here are those..." She paused, breaking off with a squeak. He was cleaned up. He looked too nice to be working.

Surely, he could not honestly spare the time for a date. This was one of the busiest days of the year. Sam opened her mouth to call him out, but she paused. She needed to choose her words carefully. 

Fine. Sam swallowed. If he wanted to leave, they didn't need him. "Where are you going?"

Dad responded. "Go get cleaned up. We're leaving in ten minutes." He looked at his watch, "Should have left by now, actually. Move."

Sam spluttered. "But you said to..." She wanted to wave her hands about, gesticulate to the work to be done around them. She tried, but the box slipped, and she grabbed it more carefully, hating her discomposure.

He cut her off, "And now I'm saying to go wash up and get in the truck. You can argue with me later about this. Go."

Sam let the box fall to the floor with a thunk.

She emerged from the bathroom seven minutes later, with clean teeth and a red face. How she managed to get dirt and dust on her face was always a mystery. She looked like a barn rat next to Dad. Her jeans were clinging to her body, the worn denim more suited to a saddle than the gaze of the world. Her top, at least, was nice.

Sam tried, "So, uh." Dad hadn't said a single word as she pulled up her step and tucked it in the back. She had almost knocked him in the head, but that wasn't her fault. "Where are we going, because we really need to be..." Sam tried.

Dad's gaze was amused. "Who exactly is the adult here?"

Sam fell silent against the seat. They got on the interstate after a bit on the state road, and Sam had a very strong idea of where they might be going. She dismissed it after a second, because Jake had told her that Matrona was coming to the ranch, not that they were going to get her.

Maybe they just needed something from the store, and Gram was too busy to go and get what was needed.

Sam tugged at her top, under her jacket. Unwittingly, she thought that she had pulled together a nice outfit. Her boots were brown, and her t-shirt was brown. The zipped hoodie over her shirt was a really pretty reddish color. Normally, she couldn't wear red, but she did like cranberry. And her jacket, not that it mattered, was a dusty blue that went well with brown and cranberry. It was well broken in, after years of use. "So, uh..."

Dad merged with the traffic. "You doing okay?"

"I just did what had to be done." Sam knew he was talking about Jake's dip in the river, and not her personal concerns. "Buddy's fine. How'd she get to Three Ponies anyway?" Sam asked, not wanting to make a big deal out of something that was, in fact, somehow, a pretty big deal.

The question had bothered her for a long time. Buddy was River Bend's, if someone had to own her. And yet, she had been over at Three Ponies.

"I thought Jake might..." Dad began. "When you were hurt, I figured that she might make him be interested in going out to the cattle again. Took her and that friend of hers over."

Sam understood his tone, as the desert sped by them. It hadn't worked. Dad had tried, though, tried to help in a way that Sam had never realized. "Thanks, Dad."

"She's a pet." He brushed off her thanks, easily. Dad forgot who he was talking to obviously, because he backpedaled very quickly, "Even though we know that cows are not pets, Sam, and we can't keep them all."

Sam sighed, "I know. I'm not stupid." It hurt, sometimes, to think about the business aspect of their work, the eventual purpose of the cattle that they raised. Sam did her best to not think about what would happen to them when they were sent to market. She soothed herself by asserting that her cattle had good lives at River Bend, lives that respected and honored the sacrifice they made. As much as she tried to pretend otherwise, the role she played was never far from her mind. "Buddy's special."

And that, Sam realized, was that. Her father had checked in, and they would finish up this mystery adventure quickly, and he would rest easy. There would be nothing but silence from here on out.

It was a false assertion. Dad just kept talking, "My point, Sam, is that if you and Jake are having some issues, you can always talk to me."

Sam arched a brow. "Thanks for the offer, but..." It was just odd. Sam didn't think he meant it. He couldn't possibly want to talk about these things. He was just trying to do what he thought he was supposed to do, not what he actually wanted to do. "Your relationship dramas are enough for one person to handle."

"Huh." Dad mused, "You think I'm dramatic."

Sam didn't bother to reply. Of course his relationships were dramatic. They were the source of 90% of the stress in her life. Sam did not reply to that. She figured he was put off by her discussion of the facts.

Sam might have forgotten where her stubbornness had come from. At least she wasn't foolish enough to beat a dead horse, as disgusting as the saying was. "So what's a screaming fight, then, and slamming doors? Calm tranquility?"

Oh, like he'd never gotten into a heated discussion. "I don't owe you an explanation." Sam fell back on something that Ella had once said, "Trust me when I say we have more conflict resolution training than most people ever will, and we have the skills to work out issues in a way that is healthy." It wasn't like Dad could say the same thing, now could he?

"I heard about his tattoo, Sam." Dad sighed, reaching over to flick off the radio. "And I just want to make sure that that bear on your wrist has nothing to do with..."

Sam was shocked that he could even think that she would allow herself to be influenced like that. Why did he persist in seeing her like this? "Dad."

"I don't like the idea of you being pressured." He said, "You don't have to prove that..."

"I did it first." Sam broke in, unwilling to allow herself to be understood in that light, "I didn't even know. I'm not responsible for anyone's choices but my own. For the record, though, I do support his choices."

Dad replied like her answer had caused him to age 50 years. "Why does none of that surprise me?"

Why shouldn't she govern her body? Why shouldn't she make choices and go for what she wanted? Why shouldn't she support Jake's choices? Sam said sharply, "I'm not going to talk to you if you're going to be snide."

Dad replied, "Samantha." He looked over at her from the corner of his eye as they coasted along.

"What?" She asked, actually willing to talk when she heard the honest questions in his voice.

Dad looked really uncomfortable, and part of Sam relished his unease. "So is this thing done, or is Jake still going to be making a nuisance of himself and crawling into the house at all hours?"

Sam felt her stomach drop, but her tone was firm. Dad knew. He knew, but he wasn't yelling. Maybe he was only working off of suspicions, or maybe someone had gone to him, that someone being J.J., and he wanted to check in with her. She had to play this cool. "I don't really know what you're talking about."

Dad wasn't phased by the technical truth her heard in her words. "Do we want to add lying to this list of things I'm trying to go over, here?"

"How'd you know?" Sam allowed her curiosity to get the better of her. If she was going to sink with this boat, better to know the iceberg she had hit in the icy waters of her life, "We've never disturbed anybody."

"Exactly." Dad said, getting over, "You don't get up 12 times a night for water, to ask for help to roll over, to have your blankets fluffed, and you think I'm not going to check and make sure you're still breathing?"

Sam hadn't thought of that, hadn't thought of Jake's care making such a difference, hadn't thought that her father would be anything other than happy to finally have a decent night's sleep. She still needed water, needed help to turn, needed her blankets moved and her weakness compensated for in ever-changing ways. She just had not thought about how abrupt that shift would seem to someone who stood outside of the door she only closed when Jake was there.

Sam put her hat on the seat, and ran her fingers over her bear, "So, uh, J.J. didn't..."

"No." Dad shook his head, "I knew by the time he did come to me. Was that was that whole thing was about?"

"Yeah." Sam smiled tightly, "I'm the Queen of the Jezebels."

"That boy's too keen on other people's lives, is all, even if life is going to bite him for it. He'll grow out of it." Dad said. Sam didn't agree with how kind Dad was being about J.J., but she supposed he had the privilege of ignoring half of the stupid things he said, "Next time, you tell somebody that they were slow on the uptake, don't hide your actions. Don't let anybody have leverage over you, ever. You hold your head up in front of idiots like that boy."

Sam was surprised by the vehemence in his instructions. She took it for what she hoped it was. She and Dad weren't very good at talking anymore, but she understood what he was saying to her. "Thanks, Dad."

"There are rules, Sam." Dad continued, "Normal people use doors. Doors will be used, and I will be told who is in my house. Your bedroom door will be left open at all times. The night light in the hall will be left on, curfews will be minded, and if I see one bit of anything funny going on, it ends." Dad said, "I'm telling myself that this is to help you kids heal. And I'm telling myself that you're a smart girl who is not going to do foolish things because someone else trusts her to make adult decisions well before she is actually an adult. Am I telling myself wrong?"

Sam willed herself not to gape like a fool. What was this? "No."

"Good." Dad said, settling the matter until he added, "You can tell Jake. I'm going to talk to him on the drive."

"Dad." Sam was cool with telling Jake herself. He'd be relieved. The choices they'd made wore upon him sometimes, as Sam knew that he was the one would take the heat if they were caught. She'd be responsible, but he'd do all he could to shift blame. It was foolish, and stupid, just like her father's assertions that she couldn't be the messenger for this.

Dad didn't like the question in her voice, didn't like the protest, for he would not be budged. "Samantha."

"There's nothing to say." Sam tried to point that out. He went on and on about her being independent, and then he starts in on taking to Jake, like it's 1952, or something. She didn't need to be talked about her back. It was a sore point with her right now.

Dad didn't give in."Trust me to know my own mind."

Sam just wanted to know, know something, before her face erupted in flames or she laughed. She could see them, now, both standing there, saying absolutely nothing, and then both separately deciding that they'd had a good talk. "Why do you have to talk to him?"

Dad glanced over at her. "I want that windowsill repainted."

Sam sighed. Matrona had better thank her for picking her up. Sam hoped they were going to the bus station, as it was two blocks closer than the train station and a few miles from the airport.

_I'm in a clique but I want out_

_It's not the same as when I was punched_

_In the old days there was enough_

_The card games and ease with the bitter salt of blood_

_I was in but I want out_

_My mother's love is choking me_

_I'm sick of words that hang above my head_

_What about the kid?_

_It's time the kid got free_

_The Love Club_ , Lorde

Jake grabbed the saddle off of the rack, and moved around Quinn easily. Quinn was staring at him. "You told her."

Jake ignored his brother, and made his way to the door. So what?

They should know better than to think he wasn't eventually going to tell her. She had this awful way of knowing most everything, or thinking that she did, so then he had to correct her.

She'd always had that trait. 

They didn't know that this time, nothing like that had come into play. 

They didn't need to know that he felt terrible, terrible for selling her out, just so he could feel like he belonged with his brothers. 

They had told him that this whole scheme was normal. Jake knew now to trust his gut, no matter what they said. 

His brothers didn't need to know what had been on the line by not listening to his gut. 

But they had known, at breakfast, when they weren't glaring at each other. Well, Sam wasn't glaring and he wasn't scowling. Sam had looked uneasy, pensive, worried and unsure, but not like she wanted to cut out his liver with a spork.

"Jake." Quinn said, "You ruined everything." Jake put the saddle over the stall door, and turned to face Quinn, who had proceeded to follow him, rather than let matters be as they were.

Jake knew that he had done his level best to make things right. 

"Do you want to know what she said, what I was risking in not telling her?" Jake returned, having zero intention of telling them anything. What he and Sam had to say to each other stayed between them. Their vulnerabilities were theirs to protect, theirs to work through. "It wasn't worth it. We've got enough to deal with." They needed to stick together, and nothing, nothing was going to break them apart.

"Exactly." Brian added, appearing like a wisp of smoke, like he had some radar for when everyone was ganging up on someone younger. He shared a look with Quinn, one that excluded Jake, even as he read it with years of practiced ease. "You do. That argument, for starters."

Oh, great, Jake thought. They were going to gang up on him. Whatever. He willed his shoulders not to hunch as he went rigid. He didn't owe any of them an explanation.

"You two do have too much to deal with." Brian decided, "You're just a couple of kids. You need to have some fun, and you went and ruined it."

Jake just stared at them, sweat breaking out across his back. "Nothing about this has been fun. Just let it go."

Jake walked away, but he didn't think they were going to do as he asked. That pissed him off. How dare they decide that he and Sam were little kids who needed to do what they considered to be right and fun? They had stuck their noses in and made a mess of everything. He and Sam were who they were, and it rankled him that their brothers sought to infantilize them, put them down, like that.

They weren't kids anymore. Everyone around him seemed so immature. 

He felt disrespected and talked down to, and he wasn't going to take that, not from anybody. They might be older, but they had no idea what they had started, and what their words revealed to him.

_I wish my life was a little less seedy_

_Why am I always so greedy?_

_Wish I looked just like Cheryl Tweedy_

_I know I never will I know I never will_

_I wish my life was not so boring_

_Every weekend fall to the flooring_

_Don't get me started on Monday morning_

_It would be overkill, It would be overkill_

_Cheryl Tweedy_ , Lily Allen

 

And then, just like that, Matrona was there. She appeared, with the low thrum of her wheelchair in the Amtrak station in Elko. Her wheelchair was different, Sam noticed.

"Matrona?" Sam called, not that there were many people getting off in Elko at this time of the day, "We're here!"

Sam pushed forward on the bench, with some unease. Dad had told her, of course, why they were there, or she hoped she she could make that case when he asked her why she was reacting like this. He'd said he was waiting on something, which obviously was the train.

Sam realized that she didn't look surprised. She faked a look of shock, "Nobody told me you were coming!"

Dad didn't look assured. Sam wondered how fast the grapevine flew around here. 

"Wow, this is great!" Sam exclaimed to him, and it was. She wasn't even sure if she wanted to talk to Matrona, but she knew how to be a host, knew not to blame her relationship issues on someone else.

She felt uneasy, and her heart was racing.

As Matrona came closer, Sam saw that Regina was with her. Regina had come along. Sam was, she found, excited to show her all of the progress she had made, excited to share the ranches with her. Matrona was exciting, but having Regina back, well, that was a blessing. "Regina!" Sam pushed to her feet then. She was so very excited.

"We heard you!" Matrona said, slowing to a stop near the edge of the platform where the benches sat. The sun was wide above them, and Sam knew her hat was casting something of a shadow of her. "And we're here!"

Their reconnections were a flurry of chatter. Sam felt like she was playacting. The warm hug she shared with Regina was not false, though. 

Matrona had a lot to say about her trip. Sam saw that Regina was talking to Dad, who moved away to get the bags. Finally, she said, "We'd better get moving, Miss Sam."

"Regina came out this time to help me, Sam." Matrona said, smugly though with love, "So I won't have your hair looking better than mine." She was teasing, even as she explained how this could be made possible.

Regina had magical abilities with hair, not that Sam had frequently availed herself of those offers to do her hair. Edye had always said she was good with hair. Sam had never let on that Regina was much better, and less of a braggart.

Regina was magic with hair. 

Sam didn't bother to remove her hat to display the wavy tendrils that were restrained with a clip. Sam looked at the bags Dad had fetched. There were two leather suitcases, a satchel, and a large bag. Sam sought to make light of all of the stuff they had to travel with. It wasn't like you could pick up a sliding board just anyplace, and there was one strapped to the top of the smallest suitcase. "How much hair stuff did you need?"

Matrona rolled her eyes. "Hello, do I look like I travel lightly? Looking this breezy takes effort." They were walking down towards the truck, then. Matrona's power-wheelchair made easy work of traversing the ramp. Sam had a little more trouble, and moved slowly down the ramp before she replied, watching carefully where she placed her feet.

She should have taken the stairs, but the ramp always seemed like the natural choice now. Sam tried not to think about how haltingly she still moved.

Before she could speak Matrona cut her off, "Speaking of messy hair, I bet Jake's about torn his out. I've been messing with him for weeks. Did he not tell you?"

Sam hoped that she wouldn't bring any of this up in front of Dad.

He didn't need to know more than he already did, which, given their family, was likely a lot. Nobody knew how to keep their mouths shut around here. "No." Sam replied, not bothering to look at Matrona, "It, uh, didn't come up."

Sam didn't dare meet her father's gaze, which was somehow both knowing and disbelieving.

Matrona continued, "Yeah, I made up this TV show and everything, told him for weeks about all these plots. I even had to make a list. It's been fun, so you have to go along like I'm obsessed. He gets so annoyed, but he keeps replying."

Matrona was almost laughing. Sam wanted to throw up.

Her stomach rolled. She nearly tripped as her stride broke. 

Sam almost bolted for the truck, now that she could see it in the row of cars. Dad's hand was on her arm, helping her over the cracks in the parking lot, not that she would need the help if she wasn't tired of walking. She couldn't bolt, though. "He cares, Matrona. It wasn't a joke to him."

Matrona didn't understand what Sam was saying, but Regina did. The nurse was intent on following along, even as she seemed to be unsure as to what was going on, but she understood Sam's tone in a way that Matrona did not.

Matrona continued onward, "I decided that I was going to go on until he lost his patience with me. You're always saying how easy it is to annoy him. I wanted to test your theories." Matrona was only joking, but Sam took it personally. It was a bitchy thing to do, but not out of the scope of Matrona's brand of humor. She hadn't meant to hurt Jake, but she had. "I think, Samantha, that you just might be wrong."

" _I_  annoy him." Sam replied, trying to reign in sharp words that would hurt the tone of this visit.

Dad shot her a warning look. "Sammy." He said, below the hearing of the others. 

Who thought that doing that to Jake was funny? Social interaction was an effort for him. She wasn't saying that Matrona should be glad for his attention, only to understand what he was saying when he chose to listen.

"It takes decades of practice. He probably thought he was doing...something nice for me, by..." Sam breathed outward, swallowing a bubble of laughter that would have sounded crazed.

She felt awful for not thinking this through. And she felt joy, joy now that she understood a little bit more.

He didn't like Matrona. He wasn't Matrona's friend. 

He was her friend. He was being nice to her friends. Because that's, that's what friends did. She should know. She hated Jen's friend Marley, and yet she was kind to her, because Jen cared about her, and caring about Jen meant that she cared about...

Sam felt something spark in her heart. It was all she could do not to spasm with the force of her realization. 

He had been picking her.

 

Jake had picked her.

Maybe he was a jackass and used terrible judgement in picking up the phone last night. That wasn't so excusable. But.

But. In talking to Matrona, he had been picking her, valuing her choices, valuing the people she brought into their life. Maybe they sucked at communicating, and maybe they should have done more to express how they were feeling, but this whole thing, it wasn't some kind of gross disregard for her feelings on his part.

Nor, she realized, was it anything other than hurt and worry on her part.

This didn't mean that they didn't have problems to work through. She just wasn't sure what was going or how to approach this, now that she knew that Matrona had been annoying him.

Why that made a difference, she didn't know, but some dark part of herself said that it did. Yeah, she was mad, and they needed to talk, but this, this changed some things she had to say. She'd had no idea that Matrona annoyed him, and selfishly, that made some part of her lighter.

Dad muttered, "Just when I think you two might be normal teenagers..."

Sam didn't understand what he meant. They were at the truck, then, and Sam stole a glance at Matrona, utterly ignoring her father as he lowered the tailgate.

"Matrona..." Sam didn't know what to make of any of this. Were she and Matrona friends? She felt terribly for being so bitterly angry at Matrona's immaturity. None of this was a game. Her life was not a game.

Her insecurities were not something to be poked at for amusement. 

She was pushed away, though, when Regina came to help Matrona into the truck.

Sam was fascinated by her wheelchair. It was a manual frame, sort of like Sam's, though with more support, and electric wheels and a joystick that popped off easily to break down into pieces. It was more easily transported than Matrona's Permobil.

Dad, as he loaded up the bags and the chair's pieces, simply looked at her. He shook his head.

She was to keep her silence. Dad knew her too well. This whole day was odd. Were she and Dad talking now? What was this? She was so confused.

All the way back to the ranch, Sam thought about how she was feeling. It wasn't right, she found, to feel as though her relational issues with Jake had vanished because of the things Matrona said. Maybe, Sam thought, it was this undeniable urge to defend him, to be cutting and awful and snide, to hurt those that had hurt him. In feeling like he needed to be defended, to be protected from the pain that Matrona had unwittingly caused him, Sam was able to set aside their fight for a time and look at it in a new light.

It mattered. The fact that they had reacted as they had needed to be better understood and processed. They couldn't just let it go. They had said they were sorry, but there still had to be conclusions drawn. One thing Sam did know, thanks to Matrona, was that she wasn't ready to seriously consider ending their relationship.

She had seriously done so, hyped herself up, and put everything on the line to end their romantic relationship because she loved him, and valued their friendship above all else. She could not stop being his friend, stop caring about his feelings, stop wanting to defend him, any more than she could turn the tide and stop the sun from rising.

And well, that petty joy that had stirred within her when she'd realized that Jake was annoyed by Matrona told her that she was covetous of his love in a way that no simple friend ever would be. It was goofy, but she couldn't help but think that the fact that Jake was so kind to Matrona, even though she knew he wouldn't normally put up with such a prolonged annoyance, said that he valued her friendship. He valued her choices, and honored her judgement of people.

And yes, Matrona was prettier, more attractive than she would ever hope to be, and not just in a physical sense. She had this way about her, that just made her joy infectious. Nothing Matrona said or did allowed people to stay mad at her. She was just so earnest and full of mischief that it was impossible to hold her responsible for hurt. She had meant nothing wrong, and none of this was her fault anyway.

And yes, Sam was jealous of Matrona, jealous of her ability to use these things to make people like her. People liked Matrona. Jake liked Matrona, but Sam knew that liking someone wasn't the same as loving somebody. Jake saw Sam's flaws, and somehow they came together to celebrate each other. Jake didn't celebrate Matrona's flaws. Sam wasn't twelve. She wasn't going to sit around going, "He likes me better, because my horse is nicer!" Not that she had ever done that. Much. At least not to Darrell. Anyway.

Sam couldn't help but smile.

Matrona cut into her thoughts, "What are our plans?" Sam had learned that Matrona was going to be staying in the downstairs den, which as they spoke, was being turned into a temporary bedroom because she couldn't do the stairs. Regina was going to be taking the guest room at Three Ponies.

"Do you want to get settled in?" Sam asked, hopeful that they did. She had spent all day at River Bend, and she wanted to see her brothers now that they were mostly all at home. Matrona would like them, and she could pull Jake aside and they could really talk this out. She wanted that, so, so much.

Another idea seemed more realistic. "Or do you want to go see Ace and Kitty? Remember how I was telling you that I made that new granola for Kitty? She seems to really like it. Jen said it's because of the apple, but I think she likes the crunch. We could..."

Sam broke off, and looked at her father. He had something of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Sam blinked, "What?" She rolled her eyes when he didn't reply, "So anyway, you choose, Matrona."

Matrona made up her mind easily, "I think we should go put away our stuff, before you feed me to your horse."

Sam nodded. She didn't bother to tell Matrona that horses were herbivores. Everyone knew that, after all. Matrona was just being silly.

 

 _Do_ _n't say nothin' bad about my baby_

_(Oh, no) don't say nothin' bad about my baby_

_(I love him so)_

_(Not tonight) I won't listen to a single word you say_

_(He's my guy) don't you tell me my baby's just a playboy_

_He's true (he's true) He's true to me (true to me)_

_So, girl, you better shut your mouth_

_Don't Say Nothing Bad about my Baby,_  The Cookies

 

Wyatt and Sam were on their way to get Matrona, and things still weren't settled between he and Sam. Jake heard Quinn calling his name from a few yards ahead, "Jake! Get a move on!" Chip was waiting, it seemed energy that only Chip had, "Your best buddy let a couple head out onto the state road and they're blocking traffic. This isn't a stroll."

They got a call on their phones to come and help because they were out.

Dallas could have handled it, but a few extra hands never went amiss with something like this. Besides, this they just had to see, nothing more, nothing less.

Pepper had to have been behind getting them called. Jake knew he was going to owe the redhead.

If J.J. was going to get the book thrown at him, Jake wanted the idiot to know that everyone knew, everyone knew, just like J.J. had tried to stick his nose in things that were none of his concern. Turnabout was fair play.

And, oh, it was going to be great. Jake was just sorry that Sam was going to miss it. It'd make for good pillow talk, he figured.

In a few minutes, Jake about fell out of his saddle, laughing. He thought maybe his lips tipped upwards, but his face was otherwise impassive.

This was so much better than that, because Wyatt was in the thick of it, and he had clearly been inconvenienced the day before the drive, a day when everybody needed to bring their A-game. 

It was Wyatt's truck that was being blocked, as well as another lady, though Jake couldn't see who it was to figure out if he knew her. Wyatt was talking to a mounted Dallas, and J.J. was very red about the ears.

Sam shot him a glance from where she was sitting on the bed of her father's parked truck. She wanted to know what he was doing with her horse. He couldn't tell her that, not yet.

Jake reached down to pat Ace. 

Matrona was still inside the cab, but Jake could see that Regina was rather interested in the cows that were roaming around the road as they were parked along side it. Sam was explaining the process. Poor Regina, Jake thought. Sam could go on. 

God, he was so glad to see Matrona, just so she could lose his number. He honestly did not care about her TV obsession, which he thought bordered on the insane, but it was important to be respectful, to be a good host.

At least now he and Sam could have a real conversation of some kind. What there was to say now, well, he wasn't sure, but there were things that needed to be repeated.

Pepper shot him a glance, with a small hand signal that outlined where he was heading, and the cows were easily contained. Ace was a good cowpony, Jake thought, as he minded his work. He certainly was nimble and stubborn, both qualities Jake associated with his mistress. He refused to call Sam Ace's mother. That was just strange.

Quinn called out, good humor abounding at the realization that J.J. had just gotten a small slice of comeuppance. "They're just practicing for tomorrow."

Pepper grinned and called back, "You think these ladies would have waited!"

Jake understood, though, the urge to be out on the open range for the summer. He understood how the cows couldn't wait a single day longer to be under those wide skies, with grass and stars and water and air. It used to be that he felt the same way.

Looking down at his boot against Ace's side, Jake thought that maybe, maybe, he'd grown up, just a little. 

 

Now, though, he would be content to come home at the end of a long day. Jake shook his head and he muttered to himself, "You're getting old."

_There is a young cowboy, he lives on the range._

_His horse and his cattle are his only companions._

_He works in the saddle and he sleeps in the canyons, waiting for summer, his pastures to change._

_And as the moon rises he sits by his fire, thinking about women and glasses of beer._

_And closing his eyes as the doggies retire, he sings out a song which is soft but it's clear_

_as if maybe someone could hear..._

_Sweet Baby James_ , James Taylor

They ended up at River Bend. Dad got back in the truck, and gripped the wheel tightly as he shook his head.

Sam didn't have the heart to ask him to make a longer trip, and nobody pressed her to ask him. Sam suspected that J.J. was going to get a stern talking to. Rule number one was if a gate was closed, you closed it behind you. She had learned that at two. And yet, he was blowing off the basics. And yet, he got to be the one to do her jobs on the drive. It made her blood boil.

Regina made her way to the house to talk to Gram, once Matrona replied that she was fine. Sam was excited to show her the ranch. "Welcome to River Bend, Matt." Sam felt her good humor rise as Blaise came to greet his people, "Hey, Bee. Give me ten." Sam held out her hands, and the dog popped up, to give her ten. 

He was suitably rewarded with a peppermint and praise, "Good boy!" 

Blaise scooted near to Matrona, well used to wheelchairs. She patted him hesitantly. "Uh. Hello." 

Sam did not notice her wiping her hand on her skirt. 

 Matrona wasn't too keen on the chickens. Becky, one of the only hens with a name she answered to, came up to say hello, and Matrona scooted backward quickly, nearly knocking into Blaise.

"Let's go and see the horses." Sam offered, to spare Matrona.

Chickens could be creepy, when they sunbathed, and Sam had to tell herself that they were fine, and not to go and wake them.

Matrona paused, let her wheels fall still in the worn path Sam's own wheels had created, when they were close enough. "I'm good here." She refused to move forward towards Kitty. "She...she..."

"Is a sweet old lady." Sam said, as Kitty snuffled at her hair in greeting, "But you can stay over there if you want."

"Who is a old lady?" Nate said, as he walked by, having hoofed it out to fetch Digger, who was likely being himself and hanging out as far away as possible.

"You are." Sam returned. "Why are you here, exactly?"

Nate paused, and Sam watched as Matrona seemed interested, not in the man before her, but in the way Digger dropped his head and began to pull up the grass there for his amusement.

Sam made the introductions, "Nate, Matrona. Matrona, Nate."

They said hello, and Sam thought that Nate would go away so she could talk to Matrona before taking her inside to face Gram. That wasn't the case, though. "You haven't even brought her into the house, Sam. Gram'll have your head."

Sam replied, "What people don't know can't hurt them."

Sam wanted Matrona to know, before she walked in there, that the houses were full up. They were staying at Three Ponies to keep Max company, which was a polite way of saying that no one trusted her to be alone at River Bend. Gram worried, she guessed, that she'd fall or something.

"You work things out?" Nate asked, carefully, standing there so at ease that Sam wanted to push him out of the pasture. Didn't he have things to do? They were leaving within a day. There was piles of things to do.

Sam wasn't happy. Did she ever bring up his fights with people? Well, yes. But did he have to ask now? "Nate!"

"What things?" Matrona picked up on Sam's discomfort easily. She was, of course, on gossip like a fruit fly on an apple.

Sam hedged, trying not to blush. Matrona would read too much into anything she said. "Nothing things."

"I'm just asking." Nate lied. He wasn't just asking anything, because he knew darn well that things were improving, and that she would never pull him into this. "It's none of my business."

"Then why are you asking?" Matrona pressed. Sam knew that it was nice to have Matrona in her corner. She'd tease until the cows came home, literally, but she always stood up to people when she assumed Sam wouldn't. Sometimes, Matrona's good intentions meant the world to her.

Nate replied, not even the least bit sheepishly. "Because I'll put a few scorpions in Jake's bedroll if it makes her happy."

"Your fraternal devotion is astounding." Matrona returned, though Sam noticed a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

"You know it." Nate agreed. He looked at Sam as he patted Digger.

Sam smiled. Of course Matrona wouldn't understand just how truthful her words really were. Nate seemed to point with the end of the rope, "Now take Matrona inside and let her get settled before you show her every animal on the ranch, okay?"

"Bossy." Sam teased, but she took pity on the expression Matrona's face and did just that. "We should probably go in." 

"I want to meet your grandmother." Matrona agreed, "I hope she's got pie." 

She wanted to see Gram before she went over to Three Ponies to help Matrona settle in there. "For you, she probably made one fresh. I can't introduce you to everyone, anyway. Jake stole my horse." 

Matrona smiled. "Oh."

"They hang men for less, out here." Sam asserted,  holding the gate open for Matrona. 

"Really?" The Russian girl asked, completely serious. 

Sam couldn't hold it in. It took all she had to bite her lip and praise God that Matrona couldn't see her face as she latched the gate. She hid all expression from her voice. "No, unfortunately. Hanging replaced by the gas chamber in 1921." 

Sam strolled towards the house, Matrona asking. "Wait. Wait. You're having me on." 

Sam would never tell. 

" _Do you love me, do you wanna be my friend?_

_And if you do_

_Well, then don't be afraid to take me by the hand, if you want to..._

_I think this is how love goes: check yes or no."_

_Ain't much changed, I still chase Emmylou_

_Up and down the hall, around the bed in our room_

_Check Yes or No_ , George Strait

Jake was surprised by the question, "What's the deal with you?" Jen was standing before him, waiting around for Sam, with the bottle in her hand.

Nate was bringing her, Matrona, and Regina home soon. Jake had felt bad that Jen was expecting Sam, but didn't find her here due to J.J., and so he made up some work that he needed help with until Sam got there.

It was the polite thing to do. Wasting someone's time was no good. Plus, he really did need to go over Ace's tack, now that he had seen the look on Sam's face. 

"Nothing." Jake said, trying to shake off a pensiveness that shook him as he ran his fingers over the bridle. 

He wasn't going to say that he had seen the look on Sam's face, as she sat in the back of the truck. He'd later discovered that Pepper had helped her to climb up there, and that she had confided that she wished she was going.

It was likely an off the cuff truth she would never otherwise say. He knew, though, he had seen the longing to be in his position on her face.

He couldn't give her that.

 

Now, though, he regretted being selfishly glad she wasn't going. She should be there, because this was her right, just as much as it was his, if not more so. 

He couldn't give her nights under the stars, the aching satisfaction of a job completed, the long moments of dirt and dust and teasing and food enhanced by the scent of burning wood and the sounds of the wide earth around them. 

He couldn't give her those moments, the quiet moments of slipping off, just to stand there, one with the earth and the sun and the sky. 

He couldn't give her that, but he could take Ace along, and so his scramble to look over tack was borne out that realization. He couldn't tell Jen that, though. He had worked with Ace for a long time. They were buddies, and he knew that Ace was a somebody he could trust.

He understood better, now, his own fear and his anger. He hadn't told her because he had fallen into the trap of old roles, like wearing an old shoe, or an old, comfortable hat. He never knew what life was like until it was gone.

He understood, too, that the accident hadn't really changed Sam.

She was still her, still her, a hell for leather cowgirl who was going to do as she pleased when she felt something was the right thing to do. She longed for the range as much as anyone else, and thoughts of rational concerns didn't enter into it.

He didn't think of the hard ground when he thought of sleeping under the stars. How could he ask her to see the places she loved in new ways?

Jen smiled. "You're such a sap." She extended a hard candy from her pocket. "Want one? My allergies are killing me." Jen popped one in her mouth, and Jake saw that she was offering him a strawberry flavored candy. He wasn't going to ask for an orange one.

Jake shook his head, and exhaled when he heard Nate's truck pull in.

Jen beat him to the yard. Sam slid down from the cab as soon as he opened the door.

Her boots hit the ground in a thunk as his arms wrapped around her body to keep her steady.

"I'm up." She said, "I'm up." She meant that she was steady, that she was standing, that he could let go.

Jake smiled at Regina, who was unloading Matrona's chair.

"You good?" Jake asked, feeling very bare without his hat.

It made him feel like he was exposed in public. Sam seemed a bit taller in her hat, and he suddenly understood the urge she always gave into when she pushed his hat off of his head.

"We are." Sam said, "We really are." And in that moment, Jake knew exactly what she meant.

They were together, where they were supposed to be, and no matter what they had to work through, they could do it as long as they did it together. After all, what were friends for, really?

 _Waiting in the front yard sitting on a log,_  
_A single shot rifle and a one eyed dog._  
_Yonder come the kinfolk, in the moonlight_  
_Louisiana Saturday night!_

  
_Well, you get down the fiddle and you get down the bow_  
_Kick off your shoes and you throw 'em on the floor_  
_Dance in the kitchen 'til the morning light,_  
_Louisiana Saturday night!_

 _Louisiana Saturday Night_ , Mel McDaniel 

Poor Matrona. Poor, poor, poor only child Matrona. The table was going to collapse under the weight of the food, and it still wasn't going to be enough. There was a loud thunk as a few bodies barreled down the stairs. Sam looked at her bewildered friend, and confided in her, "Keep your elbows in, and if you have to, never feel bad about stabbing somebody."

Sam set aside the package for the bandaids used, not wanting there to be a fuss over her latest kitchen mistake. It did hurt to bend her hand, but such was life. If only she had better gross motor control.

Max laughed lightly, as Gram put out a huge jug of lemonade on the counter. "Nobody is stabbing anybody. There's plenty."

"I know." Sam had peeled the potatoes, carried the peels out to the compost, and babied the slice on her palm from the peeler until it stopped bleeding. Her hands still struggled with kitchen tasks, but potatoes rinsed, and she wasn't going to let a little blood stop her. "But it is a pleasant image."

Sam looked over the orderly table, the filled platters, and knew that she'd better savor the image of a job well done. It wasn't going to last long. 

Then the room filled, and everyone was parking their bottoms in their seats. Everyone was there. Dad, Gram, Luke, Max, everybody except Kit and Cricket. Jen had been allowed to stay, too, and Sam was so very happy to have her here.

Sam was going to miss her the most while they were all gone, she thought. She refused to think about anyone actually going, though, so who knew? Sam loved Jen so much that it was a warmth in her heart, to see her there. 

Sam snagged a hot roll and passed it to Jen, wordlessly, falling easily into the fray of trying to be a little genteel about grabbing food she wanted before anyone else got to it. It was a fine art, one of standing one's ground in the buffet line, glaring, and grabbing spoons the second before you needed them. 

This year, it was a little bit harder. She had to hold her plate level in one hand and go down the counter with the other. Jen, Sam knew, was a help to her in more ways than one, passing spoons to her without setting them back in the bowls or on the platters. 

Sam's whole family was in the room. It felt whole and good. Dad was patiently waiting to eat, until everyone sat, as he said something to Grandpa. 

Quinn was digging his thumb into Jake's shoulder. Sam would never tell, but all Quinn wanted was Jake's attention. 

Adam was making himself useful, shooing Gato from the kitchen, while snagging a cookie from the end of the line. 

Gram was in her element, fussing over who had enough to eat before they had even sat down. Matrona and Regina were the current focus of her attentions, and it seemed Matrona's plate was heavier now that Gram had given her more food. 

Jen caught her expression, and reached over, and squeezed her hand as they crossed over the chicken. 

 

I _'m still bound to leave you, I surely don't know how_

_My heart won't let me put you through_

_What my mind says should happen now_

_I don't know where we'll go from here, there may be no way to fly_

_And the cloud I'm in just makes it all too clear that I can't leave you_

_With a bad goodbye_

_Goodbye, easier said than done_

_Goodbye, there's no good when you're the one whose goodbye you swore would never come_

_And in my goodbye you're finding none_

_A Bad Goodbye_ , Clint Black and Wynonna Judd

 

When they began to eat, Brian said, "So, Matrona. Sam's never said much about her time in rehab."

Matrona looked up, over her chicken, and seemed to consider her words. Sam was hoping that she wouldn't tease and say things that were too off color. "Rule number one is never talk about Fight Club."

Sam didn't want that analogy to made in front of her parents. Certain scenes came forward in her mind, and she didn't want there to be any confusion. And if given an inch, Matrona would just go on and on and on until somebody understood her humor.

"Oh." Sam said, "It wasn't really like Fight Club. I mean, there were broken bones, and blood, and you know, well, yeah. Rehab wasn't Fight Club."

"We did make soap once." Matrona replied, as though Sam had totally missed the point of her connection. Her expression was totally innocent, so innocent that no one could probe her, though Sam did see some knowing glances and rigid grips on silverware.

"We did." Sam agreed. They had made soap, not that she could touch it. The texture had hurt her fingers, the scent had bothered her for days, and she had curled into a ball thinking about how soap was really made, the way Gram had taught her.

Sam had hated herself, hated that she could not longer complete that simple task without having everything set out to be some fake soap that was made cold so that the inmates of the rehab wouldn't be hurt. Ella had made her go over and over her word choice. They were residents, clients, not inmates. It hadn't made a difference to Sam. It was what it was.

Sam tried to make light of things, even as she really didn't know what on earth to say. The side conversations that had been swirling around seemed to have halted. All eyes were on her. "There was also a lot of insomnia."

"And also support groups." Matrona said. 

Sam had to agree. The support groups, three times a week, sometimes daily, had been a fixture of the rehab process. Sam was never so glad to have something behind her, even though it was odd to talk about it now, like someone was confirming that the things she remembered had actually happened, and weren't just part of some dream.

Looking around the table, Matrona adopted Sarah's tone, "And today, layyyy-deees, we're going to talk about the cracks in your skulls, and how they make us fee-eeel. It's okay if they make you saaaa-dddd, because we have to be who we arrrreeee."

Sam let out a bleat of laughter at Matrona's dead on impression of their group leader. "Even..." she breathed, "If who we are is...different from who we used to bee-ee."

"Buzz buzz." Matrona finished, snapping her fingers.

Not that they had ever made bee sounds in front of Sarah, but it was the floor joke behind her back. Sarah knew, and was a good sport about it. Sam thought that her bee headband, complete with antennae, encouraged the tradition.

"Who was this?" Jen asked, carefully.

Jen actually knew about Sarah. Sam had told her more than anyone else, even Jake, who had been there, and hadn't needed to be told these things.

"Sarah." Sam replied, "The therapist who always pushed group events. Being who you are doesn't include being an introvert, apparently." Sam picked up the bread basket, and shoved it at Quinn, who was staring like this conversation was the most he knew about her time in San Francisco. "Bread?"

"I'll take some." Gram said, breaking into the silence.

Forks scraped across the plates as normal conversations took over, fragmenting the family into groups that would blend and merge and separate as conversations moved along. It was loud in the room, but comfortably so, comfortable in a way that spoke to years of normalcy.

Sam could see that Matrona was bewildered by the amount of food.

Jen, who was sitting next to her said, "After the dishes, you want to go eat the candy in the studio? It might go bad, you know..."

That was the lamest argument ever. Jen just wanted a Twizzler. She was becoming something of an addict. "Sure. Matrona?"

Matrona nodded, "How do you plan to eat more?" She was looking out at the counter, at the huge bowls that had been all but emptied, the large plates of food that had been demolished, the big pie that was almost gone.

Sam grinned, "There's always room for candy, Matrona."

"Candy?" Quinn piped up, breaking off of some conversation he'd pulled Jake into. She did not want to hear one more word about George at the carpet store. She was glad to ignore that conversation.  "You have to share with everybody."

"We haven't got any candy in the house, Quinn, and if we did, we wouldn't give any to you, before you go out and clean that gun of yours. With what you've eaten, you're lucky if you can move off the bench, let alone manage the parts of a weapon." Jen smiled, defensive of her stash of Twizzlers.

Sam knew that after dinner, there would be a gun check. Sam didn't know what to call the whole process of making sure that people's guns were cleaned, safe, and ready to go in the safe for the morning. She didn't much like guns, didn't understand them. At the same time, she wished she had some form of comfort with them, more than just general gun safety. She understood that they were needed, so far from home, though they hoped to never use them.

"Hey, don't fat shame me." Quinn said, "I'm a growing boy, and I have to eat." He shoveled another spoonful of pie into his face, and smiled like a chipmunk at Jen.

"He does." Seth said, "Or else he gets cranky."

Quinn rolled his eyes.

Gram cut in, "Maxine, why do these children act like we've never fed them a day in their lives?" 

Max replied, "They never seem to remember the meals that appear in front of them. I wonder what would happen if Hershey went out of business." 

"Or America's Best." Grandfather was happy to join in on the teasing, "We should have been wholesalers." 

"Shouldn't joke." Jake said, "I don't know what we'd do if we were all locked in a room with the last chocolate." 

"Didn't Sam once give you a black eye because you ate the last Carmello?" Nate asked, scraping his fork along his plate, eating the last of his pie, "I think we all know what she'd do."

Sam had cut in as soon as soon as he'd asked the question. "I didn't mean it! And it wasn't a black eye, I bruised the cartilage on his nose, accidentally. My elbow got him in the face."

Matrona looked shocked, Sam could feel it. She felt compelled to explain. "Do you know how hard it is to hide food around here? I was young, and impetuous, and hungry, and I sort of jumped…"

She knew it was no use. "It was enraging."

"I don't remember any of this." Jake finally said.  "But you've got to learn to keep your elbows in."

Sam dusted off her shoulder, because she felt a strand of hair brushing her awkwardly. She flexed her hand in doing so, and tried to drop it into her lap as the cut started to bleed a bit, under the band-aid. It was a silly cut that Gram had clucked over.

The conversations around her came to a halt.

Sam didn't understand why Jake was looking at her, why everybody at this end of the table was looking at her, like she was a bug under a microscope. "It was ages ago, and I said I was sorry! It…"

Nate said, "What happened to your hand?"

Sam looked quickly at him, "Oh, the potato peeler and I had a disagreement. I didn't bleed that much." Sam scowled at the man in question, when they all shared their patented  _Sammy's gone and gotten hurt, who are we going to make pay?_  look.

Sam looked defensively at the glaring band of idiots. "I wish you'd pay attention to people who actually get injured instead of fussing over a cut."

Jake shifted next to her, though Sam didn't let on that she was talking about him.

They all knew. What they surmised from it, she did not care.

She felt a little bit defensive of him today, likely in reaction to her own choices and cognitions. They all looked out for her, but who was looking out for him? Who was going to have his back, if she didn't? He was going on the drive tomorrow, with bruised ribs.

Oh, God, he was leaving. They were all leaving.

It hit her like a ton of bricks. They had spent all this time fighting off the thing she wanted most not to happen.

And it was happening, somehow, anyway. She had known about the drive, but she hadn't really gotten it. The things that they had been fighting over were making time pass, time that they would never get back.

This was tradition. This dinner, it was the tradition.

They gathered for one last big meal before eating out of the van. But this was different, and she...she...couldn't. Her whole family, save Max, was going to be gone, and in coming back here, she had unwittingly agreed to face her worst fear.

And what was worse was she hadn't seen it, had let herself spend the last few weeks at odds with Jake, uneasy and worried. There was nothing to do, nothing to think, anymore. Sam sighed, trying not to give into the urge to scream at the wrongness clouding her mind.

"Sammy..." Dad said. Sam didn't pay him any mind.

It wasn't exactly fair. "You should be asking me if I rinsed the potatoes before they were boiled." She stabbed a melted bit of ice cream resolutely, ignoring the vaguely horrified expressions that spread throughout the room.

_I should tell you that I want you to go_

_I really need to spend some time on my own_

_Smile and say goodbye so you don't see me dying inside_

_Is it over yet, is it over yet?_

_I should lie and say it's all for the best_

_Wish you luck and say I have no regrets_

_But I'm not up to being strong_

_So I'll wait until your gone_

_Is it over yet, is it over yet?_

_Is it Over Yet,_  Wynonna Judd

Sam was up to her elbows is soapy water. "Remember how Joseph's brothers shipped him off to Egypt because he was annoying?" She said, dunking a glass into rinsewater, "If I were the lot of you, I'd book a flight and call up Zahi Hawass."

Okay, so their brothers had been up her behind all evening, but they weren't home a lot, not all together like this. They missed her.

Jake didn't like sharing her exasperated sighs and the way she rolled her eyes with such affection, but he figured that not acting like a fool was step one moving forward.

They fought all of the time, and yeah, maybe this time was different because it called into question things they had never questioned before. That was okay, though, really, because Jake was finding out that he really liked the answers they had come to indpendently.

"Dish duty is dish duty, Sam." Jake replied, leaning against the counter, looking at the pile of clean dishes around her. She was finishing up the work, having sent Matrona and Jen off to do whatever. She seemed to want to talk to him, and he wanted to talk to her.

Jen had been her wingman in this, and though he would never say it, he owed Jen for monopolizing Matrona. "Thought you had something to say..." Jake trailed off at Sam's glare. He did not tell her that she was annoyed, she knew it all too well. "I had dish duty yesterday."

Sam made a grumbly noise. "I'd rather clean guns."

Jake sighed. "You don't mean that."

She didn't. She hated guns, didn't like them, didn't even value the gun training they'd had in 4-H, and from their own families. It was pointless to press her to do anything she didn't want to do. Guns were tools for a job she would never do, and Sam, well, there was no way she could ever actually bring herself to fire a gun with its sole intent, so giving her one, expecting her to carry it on the drive, was pointless. She would never defend herself at risk to someone or something else. She wouldn't use it, and she was never alone to make using one a necessity.

And anyway, the half-hour they spent with Dad and Wyatt wasn't really about the guns. It was a little bit of male bonding, he guessed.

This year had been tense. He still didn't like being in the same room with Wyatt, but they were trying, and that was something. Every year, they putzed around in the barn, and were told the same stories that came down to the same lessons. It was different now, because they were bruised and battered from surviving the realities of their lives, but they were suviving, and that was something to honor.

The transformation could not be forgotten. 

Sam swallowed, "Why do they fuss over my cut and not over your ribs? I just don't think it's fair to you, is all, and I wish people were more considerate of your feelings." She turned around to look at him, her eyes earnest.

And just like that, the fight they'd had was over.

Gone.

A thing of the past.

It simply served as a mile marker to remember something they'd worked through together. Jake knew that they were both realizing, in this moment, that they had spent the last weeks annoyed at each other, and that the drive was going to be very long.

He saw the awareness bloom in the lines of her body, felt the worry build in his soul.

He knew what she was asking. Who was going to take care of him, if not her? What would happen, this first time, without her to have his back, and vice versa? He had no clue. His first few years going on the drive were hazy, mostly because Mom hadn't wanted to let him go. He had been so young.

But they weren't young anymore, weren't kids. They knew, had come to see, the challenges they had not really internalized that were speeding upon them. They hadn't slept apart in months, in nearly a year, and now they were facing days of a seperation so great that it couldn't even be planned for. There wasn't even going to be cell service. What if something happened to her? What if she needed something, needed him?

"Sam." Jake took the plate out of her hand, took the rag and put it down behind her. "We're going to get through this just fine." Sam put her head on his chest as he held her, "And they fuss over you because it annoys you."

Actually, they fussed over Sam because she was Sam, and no one who knew her could really help it. Underneath her exterior, she was she a deeply soft person, soft and emotive in a way that made her stronger than he would ever be.

"I guess." Sam sighed, snuffling into his shirt like she wanted to breathe in his scent and stay there forever, "I wish I could go. I wish you could take me with you. I wish this whole thing was fairer. I'm..."

"Can I take Ace?" Jake blurted, knowing that his plan was not only to help her feel as though she was doing her best for the horse, but to feel closer to her, too. He wanted to anything to make this awfulness fade.

Sam smiled, "Yeah. He'd like that. Witch and I'll be fine. You'll hardly notice we're not there."

She was trying to comfort him, prepare him for this.

Jake returned her smile, and disagreed, "I think we need to explore those cognitions, mindfully and with an eye towards empathy and respect." His hand splayed over her back, pressed gently, framing their space in a way that helped Sam to almost go boneless against him.

"Shush, Ella." Sam intoned, "The next two weeks are going to suck, and right now, all I want is for you to hold me."

Jake complied, standing there in his mother's kitchen, with people swirling all around them. The next two weeks were going to be tough, but they had this moment of peace, this peace that they had earned and fought for, and forged, and it was worth more than easy complacency ever would be.

_We are not perfect we'll learn from our mistakes_

_And as long as it takes I will prove my love to you_

_I am not scared of the elements I am underprepared,_

_But I am willing and even better_

_I get to be the other half of you_

_Tell the world that we finally got it all right_

_I choose you, yeah_

_I will become yours and you will become mine_

_I choose you_

_I choose you_

_I Choose You,_  Sara Bareilles


	4. My Maria

_My very first pistol was a cap and ball Colt_

_Shoots as fast as lightnin' but it loads a mite slow_

_It loads a mite slow, and soon I found out_

_It'll get you into trouble but it can't get you out_

_So about a year later I bought a Colt 45_

_Called a peacemaker but I never knew why_

_I never knew why, I didn't understand_

_Mama says the pistol is the devil's right hand_

_The Devil's Right Hand_ , Steve Earle

Jake wanted to throw up. The gun holstered to his side was a lead weight that made his stomach turn. 

It wasn't the same gun. Seth had that one. Jake had started to shake when he'd seen it, had stepped away, stepped back when it had been expected that he take it. That gun had been a birthday present, a gift that had become a curse like none other.

He had tried to breathe, but he couldn't take it, couldn't let his fingers curl around it, couldn't bring himself to holster it. Dad knew, Quinn knew, that he wasn't ready. He had guessed it when they'd cleaned the guns, supposed it, but now he knew.

Jake shut his eyes against the morning sun, pushing away sights and sounds he was telling himself weren't real. He kept hearing Sam scream, above the noises of the drive. He could hear her screaming, and it sent bolts of pain down his spine to know that no one else saw the scene of the accident out of the corner of their eyes, just beyond the cattle.

Only he carried that within him.

He breathed, counting the cattle in slow, deliberate seconds.

One. Thing he could feel. The saddle. 

Two. Things he could hear. The sound of hooves, and the thrum of creaking leather. 

Three. Things he could see. The cattle. The sky. Ace's ears. 

Four. Things he could smell. Dirt. Cattle. Leather. Dust. 

Sunlight. 

Jake tried to block out the shaking of his knees. He felt like he was going to slide out of the saddle, fall boneless to the ground. Ace noticed the shift in his bearing, and reacted with interest.

The horse still wanted to know why he wasn't riding drag. He kept looking around for Sam, and Jake thought that maybe he had caught the horse scenting the air a time or two, searching for faint traces of apple shampoo, sage soap, and leather.

Jake wished that Ace was back inhaling dust and listening to Sam grumble about her customary position in the pecking order, but Sam's lungs couldn't have withstood the dust, nor her body all of these hours in the saddle and then on the ground.

He didn't quite know how to feel, when he could push away the flashbacks. There was so much of this, the reins in his hand, the seat of his body in the saddle, the flex of his feet in boots that let rightness spread in his veins.

But there were things wrong with all of this, too. There was the wrong, the sickly reality, that the gun holstered to his side had the potential to kill something, and that he had a history of pulling the trigger.

There was the wrong of not being able to slightly turn his head, flick his gaze backwards to make sure Sam was still back there, doing her thing, even if doing so meant all of the knowing glances. Jake wouldn't have minded those now. He knew, now, too, and that took some of the wind out of their sails.

There was the wrong of knowing that this drive was about more than something they'd always done.

Jake settled and kept watching, trying to ignore the brim of a hat that wasn't his old standby. He tried to ignore the blood he thought he saw on the ground as he rode over it. There was no blood on his hands, now, but he felt it in the grooves of his palm.

Jake cleared his throat and looked out at the range. It looked the same, seemed the same, but it didn't feel the same, and there was the whole issue.

This was a test.

A test, Jake swallowed, that one day in, he was already failing.

_All I could do, all I could do was cry (cry, cry, cry)_

_All I could do was cry (cry, cry, cry)_

_I was losing the man that I loved_

_And all I could do was cry (cry, cry, cry)_

_For them life has just begun_

_But mine is at an end_

_All I Could Do was Cry,_ Etta James

Sam did not let herself cry once everyone was gone. Her worst fear had come to fruition before her eyes, and she had not even seen it until it was happening, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

Everyone she loved had left her behind. Everyone she loved was gone from her life.

Logic had nothing to do with her feelings. She had understood that they were going, and knew they were all coming back, but trying to tell her heart not to break as they left was impossible.

She missed her grandmother, her father, her brothers, her parents, Jake, Ace, the horses. 

She missed the noise in the house, the life that came with having her entire family around her. 

She had felt so full last night, and now, now she felt so empty. 

Sam knees knocked, her foot jumped in a twitchy muscle reaction, one borne from stress, pain she wasn't expressing. Sam pushed down hard, on her knees to quell the shaking of her calves, even as forcing them still sent bolts of pain up and down her body. She gritted her teeth against it.

Dad was gone. And yesterday, even though it had been some strange kind of conversation, but it had been growth. There had been something like hope and understanding between them. 

And now he was gone.

And knowing more clearly what she had lost in these last months, months that almost amounted to a year, made the separation worse. She was not going to get any of this back, none of it, but she had been building something new, and that was gone now, too, never to return in the same way.

Jake was gone. He was gone.

Gone.

She was alone. She hadn't woken that way, but she would end the day that way, spend the day that way, alone, alone, alone.

Matrona's chattering made her feel even more alone, if such a thing were even possible. Sam could hardly believe how perfectly she had set herself up for this fall. Heck, even their fight had set her up to feel more alone in the long run.

Sam felt Jake's hands in hair, felt his lips on his skin.

They had wasted so much time fighting. 

His warm, mustang eyes had rested heavily on her face this morning, heavy and knowing.

They knew what they were facing. He hadn't asked her to do much, though she would have promised him anything, after he'd rested his head on her chest and shook in only the way that he did when he was thinking about Blackie's death.

She would have bargained with the tide, but all he'd asked her was, "Advocate for yourself, please."

He hadn't wanted her to go without, to do without. Sam understood the way his mind worked. He thought that she...

The sun was streaming through the window, burning her eyes, unblinking and still.

Max broke into her thoughts, "Sammy..."

Sam pulled out of her own mind. She found that she had been staring, blankly, at the wall, at the sun's rays as they danced upon it. Sam thereby understood Max's worried tone.

The wall-staring had decreased over time, because Sam mostly did her staring at the screen now, so she could hide it when she needed to escape. She hadn't even realized that she was retreating back into her mind so far that she was staring at the wall. "Sorry."

Max tucked a blonde strand behind her own ear. Sam saw the gesture for what it was, and Sam did not want to have some great big discussion about she was not going to allow herself to backslide.

Sam swallowed, "So, what do you normally do when everyone is gone?"

Max lifted a binder off of the counter. Sam knew what that was, for it ran the entire household. She kept charts in there. She'd had a binder since they were potty training, and Sam figured the stickers were still in one of the many pockets of the big binder. "Typically, I start with the ceilings and work my way down."

Sam put her hands on her push rims, and begun to pull away from the table. If she was going to stare at the walls, she might as well get a view while cleaning them.

_They just don't appreciate that you get tired_

_They're so hard to satisfy, You can tranquilize your mind_

_So go running for the shelter of a mother's little helper_

_And four help you through the night, help to minimize your plight_

_Mother's Little Helper_ , The Rolling Stones

Jake didn't need their pity.

Everyone was watching him like he was an atom bomb, ready to explode. He didn't feel explosive, just drawn-in, tired, and tight in a way that made him jittery and on edge. There was nothing to do for it.

Jake drained the cup in hands. "Wake me when it's my turn."

Quinn stopped stuffing a brownie in his face, and made some unknown sound that Jake took for acceptance.

He walked towards Grace's van, grabbed his kit, and went back to the space he'd claimed as his own. Jake unfolded his bedroll, thinking about the roll-away cot that Linc Slocum had always brought with him on drives. The tent was luxury enough, Jake thought, even for Linc.

He had second watch, so the whole idea was to go the heck to bed so that he could get up.

Jake had taken second watch so that there was less risk of waking up the entire family by screaming himself awake with a still happened, and Jake needed to be mindful of them.

So he took watch, took watch to be watchful of himself. He could stare at the top of the sky for a few hours. As bone tired as he was, he knew it wouldn't make a lick of difference.

He was careful with the pillow. It was the one Sam typically used. It was sappy, but a guy had to do what a guy had to do. He drew the line at actually stealing her blankets so that he could still feel some part of of her with him.

The wind blew lightly, and over the conversations, he thought he heard Sam. It was all false, but it was a nice thing to fall asleep to, all the same.

Too bad none of it helped, in the end.

His screams, at least, didn't make the cattle restless. 

_Wherever you may be, I'll be beside you_

_Although you're many million dreams away_

_Each night I'll say a pray'r a pray'r to guide you_

_To hasten every lonely hour of every lonely day_

_Now the dawn is breaking through a gray tomorrow_

_But the memories we share are there to borrow_

_Vaya Con Dios,_  Les Paul & Mary Ford

 

Sam was going to throw the rag at Matrona, when she craned her neck to see the TV. "Sorry." Sam honestly felt like she had to apologize to Matrona, for daring to try and clean while she was watching TV.

Sam was pissed off. 

Matrona just went on watching her show. "Not a problem." She smiled, "Hey, when you're done, do you want to go for lunch or shopping or something?"

She was always wanting to do something, and Sam just wanted to crawl in bed and stay there until this was over.

Sam really couldn't leave for the entire rest of the day. If they left now, by the time they actually got somewhere that Matrona would consider worthy, it would be after dinnertime. Where was there to go?

"Darrell's coming to work in the barn later." Sam was annoyed that she wasn't going to be trusted to mind the goats and the horses left behind by herself, but truth be told she did need a ride to River Bend to check on the chickens. "We could go to my house later?" They kind of had to go anyway, so it would work out okay.

"Right." Matrona said, almost tightly.

Sam didn't know what to do. Matrona didn't get, hadn't gotten, that just because everyone was gone, didn't mean there wasn't work to do. This wasn't a vacation. She expected, it seemed, rightly or wrongly, that Sam would be able to drop everything to entertain her. "Hey, uh, I'm sorry if this isn't what you expected. I mean, I know we're far out, and..."

Matrona flicked off the TV. Sam waited uneasily for her to reply. "It's not that."

"How can I be a better host, Matrona?" Sam asked, trying to use skills Gram had taught her on someone other than Jen or her Ally.

"You could start by telling me why you lied to your mother when you said you weren't crying after lunch." Matrona said, "And you can finish by telling me exactly what's going on with you and Jake."

Sam said simply, "I don't need Max to worry. There's a lot to do, and crying won't get it done." Sam moved forward metaphorically, leaving that conversation in the dust, "And Jake and I had a bit of a fight, is all. It wasn't anything..."

Sam wasn't even upset about it at this point. It was a thing of the past. She felt sad, alone, and Matrona would understand that. Matrona would get that, but she couldn't go on and on about it.

Matrona deserved more.

"Did it have something to do with my visit?" Matrona's arm was tense against her body, "Do you not want me here, is that it? Because I was perfectly fine in the city, it's not like I missed you, and I can just go right back." Matrona said, though Sam did not believe that she hadn't missed her.

Sam knew that she missed Matrona, missed her for the same reasons she was missing her own family now.

Sam could not believe that this was getting worse.

Even Matrona wanted to leave her. Sam couldn't bear to the see that happen. She could not even think upon it. Matrona gave her a reason to try, grudging though her efforts were. "I want you here, Matt. I want you to be happy here." Sam said, dropping the rag on the coffee table. Max and she had started in the high traffic areas of the house, and the den was next.

Sam was trying to at least get started, but Matrona's TV watching made that impossible.

Matrona pressed her, "What did his brother mean, 'did you fix things?' and why do you consider his brothers yours?"

Sam was on solid ground now, and exhaled easily. "Because they are mine, Matrona. We were raised together." Sam knew that it might seem strange to other people, but their dynamic worked for them, made sense to them. "And it really makes no difference. They're my slobbery older brothers, and I love them, and that's enough."

"He didn't seem all that slobbery to me." Matrona replied, her brows lifted. Sam went to reply, but Matrona cut her off, "Nevermind. Look. Why were you crying?"

"I wasn't." Sam insisted, lying through her teeth, "It's just, normally, I go on the drive, and, and..." Sam didn't know what else to say. To anyone else she knew, she wouldn't have to find the words, "But I'm happy you're here."

Matrona accepted the half-truth like a dog takes a pill smothered in peanut butter.

 

_Don't play that song for me_

_'Cuz it brings back memories of days that I once knew_

_The days that I spent with you_

_Oh no! Don't let them play it_

_It fills my heart with pain_

_Please stop it right away_

_I remember just what it said_

_Don't Play That Song (You Lied)_ , Ben E. King

Jake swallowed the cold water, hoping that it would still the churning of his insides.

The icy water did little to help him. All it did was turn the churning muscles into knots. Jake blew out a breath on a three count, and prayed. It was a small prayer, borne of pain and desperation.

He felt a self-loathing that not even his trust in the Devine could abate. Why wasn't he better?

He had done all of the things that Ayers had said to do, had listened to Ella.

He should be better. Better.

Wholly better. Not just sometimes.

He needed to do better in times of stress, which this clearly was, because he barely felt sensible enough to tack Ace and eat. This was foolishness, but he couldn't deny that he felt horrible, a physical reaction to emotional stress that time should have abated.

A rock skittered to a stop, nearly making him look up. Jake realized that Wyatt was nearly upon him. Jake did not move.

When Wyatt came near, he said, "I'm sorry, Jake."

Jake wasn't sure what that meant, so he swigged his water. He tried to shrug. It wasn't anyone's fault that he had PTSD, except maybe his own. He couldn't help the nightmares, though. "Sorry I woke you."

"Jake, listen." Wyatt said, "I had no idea you..." The older man broke off, "It's one thing to hear the word PTSD, but to see what it means for your life is hard, Jake. I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry for." Jake snapped.

He wasn't a thing of pity. He didn't need anyone's sorrow.

The things Wyatt had to be sorry for had very little to do with his nightmares. Wyatt would be better off being sorry for the wrongs he'd committed. There were enough of them to keep Wyatt busy for a good while. 

"I guess you can't blame me for not knowing, though, considering you've been pushing off nightmares by using Sam as a human dream catcher." Wyatt said, slowly, gripping his mug.

"I still get the nightmares sometimes." Then, though, Sam was there, with her soothing touch and her steady heartbeat.

He was not going to deny his actions. He had come to believe that what they were doing was right, even if the way they were going about it was a little less than ideal. Jake expected this conversation, had welcomed it when Sam had told him to expect it.

Unlike Wyatt, he stood by the choices he'd made, without apology and without cowardice. 

"As I told Sam, Jake." Wyatt did not look surprised, "Her door stays open from now on. I don't care if you do wake us up. And I won't insult you by asking you to talk to me, even though I wish you would."

"You don't." Jake said, a low insistence in his voice, "You don't want those images in your mind. Don't ask for them, because you just might get them."

Jake felt a warmth in his veins, when he thought about sharing every detail of his nightmares with Wyatt, even though he knew he would never, ever, do that to him, "And once they're there, they stay, Wyatt." They stayed, holding on like a black sludge in your mind, in your heart. Wyatt would never, ever, understand that.

Jake continued, "You don't want that. Don't insult me by pretending you do."

"I..." Wyatt began, but Jake was done.

They had to get a move on. Wyatt was ready, draining his cup, Blue waiting as everyone finished tacking. Jake had been ready for ages. The sooner they got done, the sooner they got home. He couldn't settle, always half a step ahead of where he knew he ought to be.

"Don't trivialize it, Wyatt, just don't." Jake bit out, "You don't get to decide when you're there for us, or not. You're in or you're out, and you've made yourself clear."

"What did I do?" Wyatt asked, as though he hadn't made it clear that he was asking for ammunition, just like he had every other time, "You both think think I know where all this anger is coming from. I don't. And you know that I'm big enough to admit when I'm wrong. Give me a shot, buddy."

Jake did not say, "You had your chances, and you blew every last one of them. You walked away when she needed you most. And I will never forgive you for that. I will never forgive you for not doing everything that was in your power to lessen her pain and her suffering. I will never forgive you for pretending like you know what any of this has been like. You can pontificate and presume if it makes you feel better, but you look like the fool you are."

He said none of this. After a long moment of silence, Jake leveled his gaze at the man he had always thought of as a second father. He stared until he felt the right words well up in his soul. "This isn't about you, Wyatt." With that, he put on his new, awful, not-his hat, and walked to where Ace was waiting for him.

Jake felt Wyatt's gaze upon his back as his brothers looked at them all, and as he stowed his canteen in his saddlebag. They were burning daylight, talking about things they should be doing.

_I don't need your sympathy and I don't need your tears_

_I haven't slept for days now, maybe more_

_Just leave me here in selfishness, close the door_

_Don't look, I don't need your support_

_You see I've built this wall around myself and it keeps me up_

_I won't be babied, so please don't baby me_

_Just leave me in my corner, I created all this misery_

_Let me fall, let me realize all the things I'm missing_

_Pity_ , Matt Nathanson

Sam tripped down the stairs, almost breaking her fingers as she gripped the railing so that she wouldn't fall.

It was a few minutes before sunrise, and she was a girl with a plan. She had spent the last evening in her bed, staring at the wall.

Matrona had busied herself exploring the ranch, but Sam was nothing if not overcome with guilt and sorrow, though everyone had seemingly understood. She'd decided that if she could no longer hide in her bed for days on end, then she was going to act.

She had things to do, things that did not include staring at the sky and wishing she was anywhere but here.

Sam tossed the box she was carrying down on the truck bed. The gate had been difficult to open, but they were going to get bugs if she didn't do something. Sam started by pulling all of the junk off of the floorboard, and putting it on the seat.

It was kind of funny to be doing this right now. The collections of stuff that had migrated to the Scout said so much about their world, their life. Her headband was next to an empty rollo wrapper.

Sam had long stopped wondering why Jake didn't clean out his truck. It was a rolling tack room, first aid kit, and housed things he might need during the day. He counted on things to be there, so stuff that was in the truck rarely left the truck. However, there was no reason, she thought, leaning over the seat, that he would ever have need of an old gas receipt, an empty gatorade bottle, and, Sam reached, stretching her fingers, one, no, two, paperclips.

Sam did not think about the memories that were swirling around her.

Sam looked at her new finds on the seat. She was going to have to get the vacuum cleaner for this mess. She wasn't going to let it be said that she had been the one to dump chip crumbs all over the seat, though it was clear that she had.

Sam decided to go up the ramp this time, a temporary one that had been placed down for Matrona, and went over to the laundry room.

Sam was glad that the laundry step had somehow mysteriously disappeared about a month ago. She wasn't sure if it was a hint that she should do more wash, or if they were trying to erase barriers in the house. Sam espoused the latter idea. It seemed kinder.

Sam found that she could not walk and pull the vacuum cleaner. She felt weak and dizzy as she tried. The pre-syncope still hadn't left her. 

Due to its round body, the handle was at an angle. When she tried, she lost her balance, and had to let go to stand up correctly before she fell. However, the long handle and body of the vacuum clattered to the floor.

Sam frowned, and decided that her wheelchair would be a good cart as anything else.

Sam pulled the chair out of the kitchen, and was backing it against the wall when someone entered the kitchen, "What are you doing, Miss Sam?" Regina was standing in the room before her, dressed and sleep-worn. "You sit in the chair."

"Not today. Today I'm..." Sam gestured to the vacuum, and saw the look of displeasure that crossed Regina's unlined face. "Unless you'd rather..."

"I'd rather." Regina said, lifting it by the handle, and staring at Sam. Sam rubbed at the bruise that had bloomed upon her hip.

She had lost weight, somehow, lost an imperceptible amount of padding that had kept her from bruising easily once more. She felt worn.

Regina helped her to plug it into a huge extension cord, and Sam considered her plan off attack. She scrambled around, yanking, pulling, huffing and pleading as she held to the truck as though it was the last solid thing upon the earth. She pulled everything she could lift out of the truck.

Half a bag of wood ash for traction was followed by a random trowel, some bailing twine, a huge thing of electrical tape, his smaller toolbox, a bridle, a set of combs, a saddle blanket, and a phone book all ended up in a laundry tub. Sam crawled into the back of the Scout, silent. 

Sam found so much random stuff in the truck, and every bit of it made her throat tight because it made so much sense. Sam focused on the work. She found some list crumpled up on the back seat, so she stuffed it onto the floor with the trash she planned to carry away.

Sam couldn't bring herself to think about why she sat back, on the seat, and grabbed it again. She couldn't let that bit of his mind go. The plastic bag crinkled under her fingers as she reached for the paper. It hurt, but she grabbed it. It was notebook paper.

She had to read it. Sam figured that she could risk wandering down to the swing for a moment, so she took her time, slip-sliding and bumping over the tiny grooves in the grass, the swells of the land, until she was close enough that she could get on the swing.

Without Jake, it was harder than it looked. She no longer had someone to hold it still, so, after a time or seven of trying to transfer and stopping before she fell, Sam pushed the swing against the bark of the tree, and plopped, praying the tree would block the swing from moving. It did. "Good tree!" Sam huffed. Things were always harder when she was tired.

Sam fumbled with her pocket, wondering what she might find in the paper. Sam almost laughed when she saw that Jake's beautiful, fluid handwriting had scribbled down a list of nonsensical words.

_San Francisco (Art Scene?)_

_Reno_

_California More Generally_

_Neurology (Brains are important)_

_Trauma (Could be...)_

_Peds (I like kids)_

_Delaware (East Coast?)_

_DuPont/CHOP (A lot of specialists fellowship there…)_

As Sam read she realized that this list was all about Jake's plans. She snorted when she read, "Brains are important" and melted a little bit at the simple declaration that he liked kids. Obviously, he was talking about medical schools and places and specializations.

According to when he'd written this list, he'd realized some things about himself that she had known for ages. Sam figured he was pretty set on working within pediatrics, or at least that the he was thinking about it. Sam wanted him to follow his heart, and she hoped that he would work in pediatrics, if that's what he wanted.

What caught her attention, though, was the scribble at the bottom. Sam guessed that she had crossed his mind while he was making this list, because in the bottom half of the page, a list read:

_Ask Sam_

_Preferences_

_Wants to live in SF?_

_Bring Cat? Dog?_

_Horses?_

_Housing? (Need that painting from the attic)_

Sam smiled and folded the sheet, smoothing out the creases, and stared at the sky as the declaration of his support of her art burned like a coal in her pocket. He hated that cat painting, and it was, in fact, ugly as all get out, but Sam had always said it was going to come with her when she left, and well...

She hadn't been serious, but it warmed her heart, made her miss him more, and made something deep inside her clench. She wondered if he was enjoying all of the notes she left in his bible, in his food, and anywhere else she could think to stuff one.

Over the next hour or so, Sam cleaned out the truck. She fetched the Clorox wipes and cleaned the gunk out of the cup holders, wiped the dust off of the dash, and vacuumed the bumps and ridges of the cab until she was sweating and the cab was growing neater and neater by the second.

Max popped her head out from time to time, and attended to own won chores. Sam didn't really want help. She needed to be busy.

When it was all done, Sam looked at the gleaming cab, and tears loomed. She had cleaned out the truck, and her chest was tight, because even when she sorted bits, bobs, and random things that Jake had last touched, it didn't feel like him in the truck anymore, and she hated that.

She fled the truck, winding the cord carefully when she realized that she was getting hung up on the fact that the truck didn't smell like it normally did.

Sam was sitting her chair, hauling the cleaning bucket inside when Matrona blinked, staring at her as Max fried eggs. "Are you Cinderella or something?"

Sam shook her head, "Just up and about."

Regina and Max shared a knowing look. "Would you like something to eat, Sam?" 

"I'm fine." Sam shook her head. The smell was turning her stomach. The huge table was empty, all but empty, and it was wrong. "I ate." 

Regina put a banana on the table. 

Sam sighed. Whatever. She was handling her stuff, and that was enough.

Matrona was more astute, though. She said, boldly, "You're acting like you did in rehab, and I don't like it. Sit down and eat."

Sam frowned.

She was not regressing, and she resented the implication that she was responding to this stressor in any other way than in a way that displayed her growth. Sam shook her head, "I'm a hard worker." Sam dug her palms into her knees so that her hands would stop shaking.

"You're staring at walls and pushing yourself to the bone, Sam. I lived with you for months. I know what this is." Matrona looked at her, like she wasn't talking about those days in rehab, Sam's responses to the accident, like they all knew what she had gone through. You hardly speak, and when you do, it's like you're a broken CD." 

"I don't need to stand accountable." Sam said, "I've gotten up, I've done things." 

"You can't even tell me what they are!" Matrona cried, "Where have the last three days gone, Sam? I won't challenge you by asking anything else." 

"I've had a good time, Matrona, it isn't that." Sam said, blushing, feeling angry and terrible that Matrona wondered if Sam wanted her here. 

 She did not want Matrona to tell Max those things, dark things about her recovery that only she knew. 

Matrona sighed, bit into her own fruit,  "Stop feeding me lines, I don't like it." Matrona returned, utterly obliterating any veneer Sam had built up. "Do you want to go back to that? Or are you already there?"

Max was standing there, with a frying pan in her hand, as though she could not believe what she was hearing.

Regina agreed with Matrona. Sam could see it in her eyes.

"I don't know what you want from me." Sam blurted. She couldn't look at any of them, couldn't even stand to be in the same room.

Her heart was pounding as she fumbled to get out of the room. She backed into a wall, and wheeled too close to the wall as she left the room again.

She didn't even care that she heard them talking behind her back as she left the room.

Sam fled to the barn, sitting with the goats until she felt the sun shift in the sky. 

 

_'Cause what she's doin' now is tearin' me apart_

_Fillin' up my mind and emptyin' my heart_

_I can hear her call each time the cold wind blows_

_And I wonder if she knows...what she's doin' now?_

_What She's Doing Now,_  Garth Brooks

 

Jake pulled out the strange slip of paper that had been stuffed into his bible, folded like a bird, and then flattened between the pages, as though somebody knew where he would be in his devotions this morning.

Mindful of everyone else as they set about getting ready for the day, Jake unfolded the paper. It was a thin, but plain, white paper that was somehow a bit yellow.

The paper had been under Sam's hands. He could see her sitting at Grace's old Remington-Rand, where she sometimes did a little writing. He could see her, fumbling with the wheel and the roll, getting frustrated with with the evenness of the paper until she felt the satisfaction of the words flowing upon the pages.

The typewriter had been used, clearly, because Jake felt the indents with his fingers as he read words that were not hers. They were not Sam's words, but they had been chosen for him by her, a message she wanted him to see and internalize.

[ _I envy seas whereon he rides…_ ](http://www.bartleby.com/113/3055.html)

Jake's eyes fell over the poem. He read the stanzas, drank them up like a man dying of thirst. 

That was all the paper said. But Jake knew what it meant.

Sam didn't want him to be thinking about her. She wanted his focus to be on the joy of the drive, on the moments they'd always cherished. It wasn't hard to realize that Sam wasn't always going to get what she wanted.

Jake gently refolded the paper, put it in his pocket, and began the day, finally able to breathe, just a little, in knowing that Sam had at least attempted to boss him about.

He didn't think she would ever know what that meant to him, or how this simple note, this poem she'd tapped out of a typewriter no one saw value in but her, to send a message she thought her words would never convey, changed his world.

Jake turned back to the Bible. 

 

_For the morning sun in all it's glory greets the day with hope and comfort too_

_You fill my life with laughter and somehow you make it better_

_Ease my troubles that's what you do_

_There's a love that's divine and it's yours and it's mine like the sun_

_And at the end of the day, we should give thanks and pray_

_To the One, to the One_

_Have I Told You Lately_ , Rod Stewart

Sam watched the bile go down the drain. Sam washed her hands to pretend like she had simply rushed to the bathroom. Sadly, she could not play it cool, because when the door opened, Max was standing there.

Sam tightened the tie of her peasant blouse, and shoved up the sleeves in the doorway.

Max worried her lip. She glanced at Sam critically. Sam knew what she was seeing, after all of that conversation behind her back with Matrona and Regina. As a mother, Max saw so much of what Sam tried to hide.

She had caught her sitting on the porch in the middle of the night, because she couldn't get to the swing alone.

Sam blinked, "What?"

"Honey. You'd tell me if you were..." Max paused, fluttering her hands in a way that displayed her unease, "You're doing okay?"

"I'm not regressing." Sam lied, "I just can't relax. I..." Sam broke off, "I can't ground." There was nobody to hold her close, press her bones back into her skin, help her to let go and breathe. She could not do it herself. There was so much work involved that she honestly hadn't tried.

There was nobody, and she was alone, alone. "But I could if I tried."

Regina was on the phone with her son, and Sam listened to the strains of that conversation floating into the room. Max carefully spoke, drawing out her response. "You need a nap."

Sam dried her palms on the top of her skirt, pulling out the hem so that it sat flatly over the lines of her thighs and knees. "I'm not five."

"You didn't nap at five." Max pointed out. Sam had never been much of a napper, she hated the idea of spending the day doing things that were wasteful of that time she had. She had always wanted to be up and about, even as a kid.

Sam heard a truck pull up. "Darrell's here."

She took that chance to get out of here. Max needed another four or five kids to keep her busy, and keep the heat of her gaze off of Sam, but all of them were out on the range.

"Sam, will you listen to me?" Max followed Sam towards the door, "You look like you're going to fall over."

Sam smiled sardonically and she pulled a sweater down off of the rack above her head, "Don't worry, Max, I'm sitting."

Max sighed, and helped her to get her sweater on, wrapping the back of the sweater around her body and holding out the arm so that Sam could angle her body to slide her tight muscles into the sleeve. "I could ground you until you're eighty-five."

Max could make her face this, Sam knew, whatever this was, but she couldn't do it. Sam swallowed, ducking her head down to fumble with the button. "I'm trying."

"Try a little less, baby, please." Max said. She folded down the collar of the sweater Sam was wearing. "Please."

Sam rolled out of the room, not letting on that she wanted to do as Max asked, she just didn't know how.

 

_Papa drove a truck nearly all his life_

_You know it drove mama crazy being a trucker's wife_

_The part she couldn't handle was the being alone_

_I guess she needed more to hold than just a telephone_

_Papa called Mama each and every night_

_Just to ask her how she was and if us kids were alright_

_Mama would wait for that call to come in_

_When Daddy'd hang up she was gone again_

_Papa Loved Mama_ , Garth Brooks

Seth's words cut like a whip as forks were dumped into the bucket of wash water on day seven, "You spend a lot of time asking questions about a woman who only looks at you with contempt in her eyes."

Jake felt his nails dig into his palms. 

He heard the warning in Seth's voice. 

Quinn was firm, not at all the unruffled man he normally pretended to be in the world. "I'd shut your fucking face if you don't want it to be rearranged."

Nate cut in, not really breaking the tension. "Look, can we get this shit done so we can get back on the trail?" They hated doing dishes on the road, but it wasn't fair to expect Grace to do everything, and many hands made light work.

They hadn't noticed that Jake was back from lugging the tote, doing the grunt work no one else wanted to do. Jake knew the second J.J. saw him. Jake knew that he looked scruffy, wild-eyed. He hadn't bothered shaving in a few days, and his eyes were sharp with anger. "There a problem here?"

He was angry. Stony gazes met his query. J.J. was the only one who spoke, "Can't a guy voice his opinions?"

The rage that bloomed in his soul almost took Jake by surprise, until he realized that it felt right to be angry, felt right to let the rage come to the fore. He was angry, so angry that he could barely breathe.

Jake just stared at him, glared until he felt the flesh melt from J.J.'s bones, and the younger man flinched, looking away from the darkness, the truths he could see in Jake's soul.

J.J. flinched, and stepped back. Jake thought that he could see the ghosts in Jake's eyes, the steady flow of the pain and loathing and self-hatred he felt but couldn't vocalize.

Ayers would be ashamed of him, Jake knew. Jake was ashamed of himself, ashamed at the fact that the only things he could feel were hate and loss.

But, but, it felt so good, so good, to hate this boy, so good to let the darkness swirl around him. 

Finally, ignoring J.J. like the gum on his shoe that he was, he turned to Quinn, and said, "Are the kits done?"

Jake dumped out the bit of rinse of water, and didn't even care that J.J. had to step back again in order to avoid the wash water getting on his boots. Jake felt a surge of disappointment, petty though it may have been.

_When you're all alone and blue, no one to tell your troubles to_

_Remember me, I'm the one who loves you_

_When this world has turned you down, and not a true friend can be found_

_Remember me, I'm the one who loves you_

_And through all kinds of weather, you'll find I'll never change_

_Through the sunshine and the shadows, I'll always be the same_

_(Remember Me) I'm the One who Loves You,_  Johnny Cash

Sam didn't want to get off the couch, but she fled to the bathroom and sat down on the closed toilet.

She just wanted to sit here. But she couldn't let Matrona down. She couldn't prove her right.

Matrona had brought up going out, and if Sam backed out now, she would have all the proof she felt she needed that Sam was regressing, just like Matrona kept saying.

Sam did not want to dwell on her thoughts. They were growing darker, and darker, and darker. She stared at the mirror. Looking back at her were eyes that wished for nothingness. She wanted nothing. She wanted to curl up in a ball. Sam could barely breathe.

When she came out of the bathroom, both Darrell and Matrona were looking at her. They were staring at her. Sam came to their point before they could do it. "It's too quiet around here." Sam looked at Darrell, "If I snag the keys to the Scout, will you strap down Matrona's chair and we can get out of here?"

Sam knew that she was going insane. She was losing her mind, and she needed to flee these thoughts of death. She was sliding into that blackness because it was too quiet around here. She had gone over to River Bend this morning to check on the chickens, and the house had been so silent. It was so odd, her footsteps had echoed, and her sobs had filled the kitchen. Sam had dried her tears, knowing that even in coming home, she had been left behind, and it was hard to handle. She wasn't handling it.

Darrell replied. "Shouldn't you ask Matrona if she even wants to go?" Darrell was looking at her, oddly, like he had never seen her. Sam did not want his pity or his compassion.

"Oh," Matrona drawled, "And here I thought you knew you were invited over just to drive us."

Darrell tipped an invisible hat. "Just call me Jeeves." He smiled, "Let's go, the meter's running, and I want pizza."

Matrona and Regina stayed inside, likely to go to the bathroom, because Sam knew all too well that Matrona could not guarantee access to a bathroom she could use. Sam had made it a point to always go before she left the house for that very reason.

She did not want pizza, did not want to sit in their customary space, and think about the last time she and Jake had sat there, and feel her throat nearly close with the force of the emptiness in her life. Sam considered how to best veto the idea without sounding insane, "But we want Basque." Sam had promised Matrona that they would try regional food, not pizza that was barely from over the border in California. "And you don't even like pizza here."

"My mother's a New Yorker, what can I say?" Darrell said, "But the truth is, I like Jersey style pizza better." He looked around comically, "But if you tell my mother that, I will lie and deny, man, and say that Jakey leaving you to your lonesome has pushed you around the bend."

"Darrell." Sam sighed, as they moved towards the Scout while Matrona was in the bathroom.

"Seriously, though." He stopped walking, and Sam paused to listen, placing her hands in her lap. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay, Darrell." Sam swallowed a bubble of laughter. "I'm a big girl. The only thing I'd really kill for right now is a human pillow. I really don't think you want the job, though." Sam lied through her teeth. She'd kill to have her family back around her, Jake's cold feet against her body, her dog's slobbery breath on her face. 

She was nothing if not a good liar. She didn't tell Darrell that sometimes she thought she heard her father moving around, that she spoke to Jake sometimes, staring at the tattoo on her wrist in the dark of the night. She did not tell him that she couldn't keep food down and that she was down 7.5 pounds.

"Well, now, Sammy..." Darrell teased. "You gonna drool on me?"

Sam grinned. Her mouth was too dry to drool. She was in so much pain that she had to up her dosages of pain meds for the past few days. It just kept building and building and building and the pain just kept getting worse and worse. It hurt to extend her arm, to move her legs, to breathe, to blink. "Oh, shut up."

"Or are we talking something more kinky here?" Darrell kept going, as was his way. "Because, sorry as I am to say so,  Darlin,  I am a good Catholic boy, and I won't go there unless it's two girls."

Sam rolled her eyes. He was always trying to tease her into telling him off. It was old hat.

And anyway, she knew Darrell was all talk. When he was around a girl, he was funny, and a little dorky, but never an idiot. Girls intimidated him, no matter how she had tried to educate him over the years. 

And, furthermore, she knew full well that he supported equality, and only said heterosexist crap to piss her off. 

"Her sex therapist would love to overhear this conversation." Matrona cut in, "Me? Not so much, yeah?" She was coming down the ramp now, her wheels thunking as Regina was talking to Max. "Can we go, or are you seriously planning some bad home movie?"

"You have a sex therapist?" Darrell blurted, and Sam wondered if Matrona thought she was helping her, with all of these hints about her time in rehab. She kept bringing it up like it was something she routinely talked about in her own life. The past was the past, though, and it needed to stay there.

Sam stared him down, anger and rage and pain flooding her heart. How dare they make light of this, or imply something salacious about it? "Yes. You try dealing with massive trauma, Dare, and see if you're able to function properly. How do you think you would feel, if the very biological mechanisms designed to give you pleasure were painful and emotionally upsetting?"

"Hey, it's cool." Darrell held up his hands, a look of compassion on his face that seemed wise beyond his normal silliness. "You can educate people. After you're done biting my head off." Darrell apologized, "But how does it work? You didn't..."

Oh, yeah. Sam's brows rose. She had totally. What an utter ass!

"Ella's a therapist, idiot, not a surrogate." Matrona said, "You know, though, you were right about one thing. Your sexual education is poor."

"Want to help me learn, then?" Darrell teased, heading towards the Scout when Regina tossed the keys at him.

"Shut up, you perv." Sam asserted, "You're not allowed to hit on my friends."

"Why?" Darrell asked. "You hit on mine."

Regina laughed. Sam missed her so much. They hadn't really talked though. Sam was finding that there was nothing she could say that Regina did not already know.

Sam spluttered, and Darrell cheekily grinned. His smile faded when he opened the door to the Scout. He glanced at Sam. "You detailed the Scout?" He repeated himself. "You detailed the Scout."

"Max has been cleaning, and..." Sam tried to explain. "So I...just cleaned it." Sam knew cleaning out a car at five in the morning was odd. Max slept like the dead, and she and Matrona, well... "It was fun." It was the closest she had come to feeling normal in days, and that was like fun, right?

"I'm leaving tomorrow, Sam," Matrona sighed, "And I still haven't managed to help you define fun."

Sam's stomach rolled, and she had to swallow thickly. Matrona was the only person she had left, and Sam felt so isolated from her. It was kind of funny, how different their personal definitions of fun were.

She loved Matrona, but if she were telling the truth, being around her only made her miss Jen more. 

They would put a movie on, and she would miss being able to talk during it. 

Matrona didn't like playing with Gal. She was a great stock dog, just too old to be put on the trail like that. She was staying home, and Sam rewarded her by letting her heard the ducks more than was strictly needed. 

And sometimes, when she was letting Gal heard, she heard Jen say, "Away to me!" A second before Sam realized she needed to issue the command herself. 

Matrona hadn't even enjoyed painting her new studio. 

She had been summarily evicted from the upstairs apartment by Nate, Adam, and Seth. They'd put down a carpet, hauled her easels downstairs in a finished corner of the extra garage bay, and had put her in a new home. 

Sam figured they thought they were discouraging any amorous activity on that old couch upstairs. Sam shuddered. Nobody would go near that couch with a ten foot pole. She did have some class, after all, and Jake did possess discretion. 

But their heart was in the right place, so Sam admitted that being on a ground floor was more freeing, and decided to put a bit of art directly on the walls. It was a Mom-scantioned way to stare at walls, after all. 

Sam worried about Jake, hoped he was doing okay.

Jen was a day or behind him, so she couldn't count on Jen to keep him on point, not that he needed it, but oh, how she missed him. Admitting it was starting to get easier, and Sam wasn't sure if that was good or bad.

Matrona smiled, said something more, and all Sam could think was, _I wish Jen was here._

_I'll never smile again until I smile at you_

_I'll never laugh again, what good would it do?_

_For tears would fill my eyes_

_Within my heart_

_I know I will never start_

_To smile again_

_Until I smile at you_

_I'll Never Smile Again_ , Frank Sinatra

Jake shifted in the saddle.

They were dismounting for dinner and to settle in. How often did they spend eating and doing things that were going to impede their progress? He'd never had any idea, before, how much time they wasted doing absolutely nothing.

But Dad was sending him that look again. How that man could not see him all day and know exactly what he was thinking was a mystery that Jake didn't care to explore.

Ace, at least, deserved a bit of leisure. The old buddy was missing Sam. He huffed, nuzzling at Jake when he stepped around him. "I know."

The horse blinked back at him. Jake knew that if Sam were here, she would be making all sorts of faces at the horse, and praising him and generally being so effervescent in her honest praise that the horse would glow. The horse clearly wanted to know why he was here, still, and why he wasn't being coo'd over. Why, Ace asked, were they stopping?

Jake replied, "Well, it wasn't my idea. Take it up with Gram."

Ace shifted. Nobody took things up with Gram, and they both knew it. She was already giving commands, like anyone actually had the stomach to eat anything.

Ace wanted his praise. That shift told Jake everything. "I'm not going to coddle you and give you treats." Jake lifted the saddle off of his back, to let him breathe a little. Jake wondered if the dude could possibly ham up his reaction any more than he had. Jake scoffed, "You're spoiled."

That earned him a solid blink. Ace looked like his masculinity had been affronted. Jake didn't have the heart to tell him that that had happened a long, long time ago.

"You are." Jake knew it was important to maintain his position in their herd, and with Sam gone, Ace had to trust him to be the voice of reason. "It's not your fault, I guess. Just..." Jake didn't shrug as he patted the horse's neck. "Let's see they hurry up. I want to go home just as much as you do."

And oddly enough, their reasons were pretty darn similar. Jake swallowed, his throat clicking. He wanted to go home.

"Jake!" Gram called, "Now hurry along! I've called your name four times, and I expect that you should at least reply!"

Jake saw everyone look at him, and then quickly look away, and then look again.

Jake looked over at Ace, who by then had moved away as if to distance himself from any wrongdoing. "Shush, you."

People were staring at him. That was just great, Jake thought, just great.

Gram was looking at him then. He was a grown man. How was it that he recoiled in fear when she thought he was talking to her?

At least she accepted his explanation easily. She pointed to a small box on the table. "I've been meaning to get those to you, Jake."

Jake picked up the box of gummy snacks, and stared at the box. They were princess gummies.

With a knowing glance, he took his box and tore into a packet only to find that it had already been opened. The packets were full of the green and orange gummies. The red and purple ones had been removed, and replaced, somehow. How had she done that?

Thank God the work was done so that they could sit and eat. Jake looked at the princessy box, and recalled that Sam's favorite was the one in the yellow dress. She actually liked that one who fought in a war, saved the whole of Japan, or something, by becoming a samurai and having a pet panda. But that one wasn't on the box.

Jake saw an envelope in the box, and pulling it out, he read his name on the front. There were several index cards inside, the top one reading:

[This is Just to Say](http://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/just-say)

Jake tore into the gummies, and smiled.

 _Darlin' you know it's true_  
_The rumor you heard about me lovin' you_  
_Well, I never told a soul_  
_So, tell me how the whole world knows_

 _Or maybe this unexplainable smile_  
_They say where there's smoke there's fire_  
_Well, I hope it's true_  
_'Cause rumor has it, you love me too_

 _Rumor Has It_ , Clay Walker 

 

This outing wasn't so bad. They'd eaten, Darrell had flirted meaninglessly, and the evening had passed slowly. Finally, darkness was beginning to fall. Sam thought they'd be heading home, when Darrell said, "So, how'd you feel about a little late night fun, Regina?" 

"Curfew." Sam said, softly, from behind him. Matrona was in the front seat, and she and Matrona were in the back. She had hours yet, but the point stood. She

"It's been a lovely evening." Regina agreed, "But Mrs. Ely will be expecting us." 

"Sammy-girl, I'm not suggesting we go wild in Elko. I'm wondering if you guys want to go to the store." 

"Praise God. Yes." Matrona said, before Sam could say that she was not going to spend more money on paint no matter what he said, "Yes. We'll go." 

Regina chuckled. "My daughter is just the same way. I don't mind going."

Sam tried to warn her. "Matrona, we have a grocery, a hardware store, a feed store, and a diner." Sam didn't have the heart to add that the grocery was closing in ten minutes. 

"I don't care." Matrona bit out, "I need to spend money. I need to, and I don't care who takes it." 

"Well, okay." Sam said, befuddled. "I assume the hardware store, then, Darrell?" 

 Darrell pointed the Scout south, and Sam found herself wandering the hardware store aisles, Matrona and Darrell goofing off somewhere.

Sam didn't much feel like being included. She rolled back towards the tack, wondering if she should pick up Witch some treats. She saw that the treats were 2 for 1, so she picked up some, just because, and stopped in front of the helmets.

Reaching out to the shelf just below eye level, she lifted a brown box off the shelf. Opening the box carefully over her lap, she saw that the grey helmet was in tact. She checked the price tag, and sighed. $49.95.

Well, it couldn't be helped.  

Herb called out, "Closing soon!"

Sam knew she had to hurry along, so she balanced the helmet and the treats from the tiny tack section, and made her way to the register, skirting around various items and displays, counting herself lucky to make it there without knocking over the entire store. 

There was no line, of course, and a lovely blonde girl was standing at the register. Sam knew who she was. She really did have amazing ears. Among other things. "Hello."

Sam placed her finds on the counter. "Hey." The girl acknowledged her as a customer, scanning the packages.

Sam fumbled with her bag. She knew Viola was waiting for her card, but Sam knew it was going to take her a second to get it out. "Just a second."

"Take your time." Viola rattled off the total, "It'll be $58.68." 

Sam opened her wallet, and palmed the debit card, glad that her fingers were working quickly. She extended the card towards Viola, "That's fine. If you wouldn't mind, I can't reach the slider."

The pin machine was up high, where she couldn't reach it from the chair. 

Viola took the card, pausing to quickly read it. Sam guessed she wanted to know her name, or follow procedure. Who knew? Herb never read cards, but then again, he hated the new registers. Sam had heard tell that his family had forced him to have one put in. 

Herb had retaliated. His nosey kids could put one in the shop, but they couldn't make him use it. 

"You're not Jacob M. Ely, are you?" Viola said, looking at Sam carefully. 

"Oh God, I'm sorry." Sam looked back in her wallet, blushing. "He must have just…put his card in my wallet. He's so funny about money, you know, and I just..." Sam exhaled, digging into her bag now, "I'll just get you my card." 

"Yeah." Viola said, "I'm sorry." She set the card down on the counter. 

"Hey no, you did me a favor." Sam hadn't known her card was lost. "I know I need to find my card." 

Sam ended up having to take the card, and dump out her entire wallet in the bug out bag. She had spent all week cleaning, but her own stuff wasn't in order. It was embarrassing.

Herb was sweeping up, and Sam saw him out of the corner of her eye. 

She felt like they were counting down the seconds until they could ask her to leave. 

"What seems to be the problem here?" Herb asked, coming up behind her after a few achingly long seconds. 

Sam was so frazzled that she jumped, and her bag went skittering out of her lap. "I can't find my debit card, Herb, and all I…" 

"What foolishness, girl. Buy your things and call the bank in the morning." Herb caught her bag, and passed it back to her, "Tell Martina down at the bank that you've lost your card, and get another. Meanwhile, you do what you need to do with the family accounts." Herb was gruffly soothing, "I'll put it on your granddaddy's account." 

And by Granddaddy, Herb did not mean Mac. He meant PopPop, who had been dead for almost 15 years. Dad paid that account now. Such was the way of things in small towns. 

"I have a card for our bank account." Sam babbled, not wanting that money to go on her father's account here, without his saying so. She was determined not to spend his money. "Just not the right one. So I'm sure…" 

"Slide her through, Vi." Herb cut her off, taking the card that Sam had placed on the counter, and passing it to his granddaughter. 

"PawPaw." Viola stressed the name, "The rules." 

Sam felt like she was sweating bullets. She just wanted to replace her helmet. Her face burned. She didn't want Viola to think she was spending Jake's money. 

"Don't 'PawPaw' me, Vi." Herb groused, "I've told you once before, a family is a family. Mrs. Johnson came in with her husband's card earlier today, and what's the rule on that?"

Sam surely did not want to hear Viola speak. 

"It isn't. Isn't." Sam wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole. This had happened in front of Viola, no less, who Sam was hoping, if she ever met her, that Sam would come across as cool, "I mean, you know I'm not his wife, Herb. Mrs. Johnson is 65..."

"You on the account, correct?" Viola muttered dubiously, likely wondering how she was going to get her poor grandfather out of jail if his business practices ever got him into trouble. 

"Well, sure." Sam nodded. She wasn't trying to defraud anybody. It was, after all, a bit of her money. The account might be mostly his money, but the money she was spending was money she had deposited. "It's a joint bank account. I mean, my name is on the checks, too." 

"There we go." Herb soothed, his knurled hand extending a bag, which Sam took. "You know, you're on the most accounts out of any woman here, Samantha. Between your father, and those Ely boys, why, you could buy out the store."

"I guess that is one benefit to a large family." Sam muttered, thinking that hopefully, Herb would understand her response as the inane mumblings of someone with too many brothers. He'd had a large family himself, and even came from a family of 15. 

"I'm sure Jacob agrees with you. So nice to see young couples putting thought into things before the time comes." Herb seemed a bit set on a train of thought. Nothing Sam said would dissuade him. 

"No, I didn't mean, I meant…" Sam rushed to explain, to at least remove that look from Viola's face. 

She was close to the same age, and here she was, looking at Sam like she was an alien. 

"Sammy." Darrell called, from the door. Sam realized that he'd checked out before she'd done the same. "We need to get going." 

Sam looked back at the counter, and saw that Herb was gone, tottering towards his back room. "It was lovely to meet you, Viola. Jake speaks so highly of you. You should really stop by Three Ponies sometime." 

Viola nodded, scanning Sam's frame critically. "Uhm. Yeah."

Sam blushed, and bolted for the door as quickly as she could with an unzipped backpack and bag on her lap. 

When she got out to the car, and was settled in, she clicked into the belt place. She leaned forward, allowing Regina to help her.

When Darrell got into the car, Sam could not help a startled gasp. The clunk of the door had allowed the expression on Viola's face to be understood. 

Regina looked at her carefully, and Sam bit her lip, before blurting.  "Viola's going to tell everyone I'm packing, and it's all your fault, Darrell." 

"Are you?" Darrell was not perturbed as he backed out of the spot. He asked the question as though he were asking if she had found all the things she had sought in the store. 

"No!" Sam spluttered. "I'm not packing, and I'm not broody, and if anyone says I am, I'll blame you from the rafters, don't think I won't." 

"Nobody would believe I had anything to do with it, honey." Darrell smirked, rolling down the window to let the desert air flow into the cab. Sam felt it against her neck.  

"What do you mean, Sam?" Matrona asked, having finally got a word in edgewise, "Where are you going?" 

Sam explained all that she could from that strange look on Viola's face. Sam knew what it was. "Jake's girlfriend is going to tell everyone in this stupid town that I'm broody because I blushed when Herb started running his mouth."

Darrell spoke around the strains of Clint Black on the radio, "Well, there was that rumor that you left school in anticipation." 

"What?" Sam startled. She hadn't heard any of this at all. 

She glanced around quickly. She saw Darrell swallow. 

"Well, the original rumor was that you'd gone to the city, to well, um, gesticulate." Darrell admitted, "And it sort of…"

"Gestate." Sam spat, correcting his word choice. 

Darrell paused, and was soft, "Well, you do hang out with Millie a lot."

She snorted, "Yeah, because it's totally catching." 

"Sam." Regina said, "You know people can be cruel, but there's no basis for it." 

"Where are you going?" Matrona pressed. 

Sam blew out a breath. "Oh, nowhere. I just fired up the rumor mill trying to pay with Jake's debit card. Herb thought I meant something I didn't, and now it's going to be all over that I'm my mother all over again!" Sam buried her face in her hands. 

"Packing is slang for pregnant, Matt." Darrell added, a second later, "I'm sorry." 

"It's foolishness." Sam allowed, not able to bring herself to really care, in the end. She was more embarrassed about looking like a fool in front of Viola. "But you were totally right about her ears."

"Wasn't I?" Darrell grinned, "For the record, I have nothing to do with any of it. I shut it down, best I could."  

"Excuse me?" Sam said, concerned that he thought for a second that she would think he was in any way behind silly stirrings of the grapevine. It would pass in a day or two. It was nothing. Once people pulled their heads out of their behinds, they would see that there was no hope of something so soap opera like going on her life. 

Sam thought one crazy accident would be enough for the gossips. 

"I'm just saying." Darrell took the curves toward home easily. "Nobody who knows you would ever think it."

Sam decided that if he wanted to feel guilty, she wasn't going to stop him. "If you hadn't brought me here, I would be at home, like a normal 17 year old girl, Not listening to Herb tell me that he's so glad I'm planning on a large family to keep him in business." 

"Aw, you know your grandkids are going to be his customers." Darrell said. 

Sam snorted, knowing that he'd still be using the same register and credit book. "Oh." She remembered her original issue, "I lost my debit card." 

"You mean this green card that says Nevada Bank and Trust in the cup holder?" Matrona chortled. 

"Kill me." Sam said, leaning back against the headrest. "Kill me now."

"This was so much fun, Darrell." Matrona giggled. 

In the backseat, Sam closed her eyes, and for the first time, was glad that Jake wasn't home to face those rumors.

They did upset him so.  

 

' _Cause if you run into the eye of the storm_  
_To get round the back_  
_You better hit the floor_  
_'Cause screaming_  
_No, I can't take it_  
_I can't take it_  
_I can't take it anymore_  
_'Til your eyes and your mouth is sore_  
_Doesn't help anyone_  
_Doesn't do any good_  
_But you'd do something else_  
_If you only could_

 _Early Christmas Present_ , Kate Nash 

 

Jake hated whoever was flying the chopper overhead to move their cattle. Seemed that it was either some rancher, or some government hack. Jake hated them. Every time they made a pass, even in the distance, he froze.

They were stopped for a quick lunch when the chopper swooped overhead, a  _thunk-thunk-whoop_ that turned his stomach. Jake focused on making up plates. He scooped up casserole on two plates, grabbing bread and chicken quickly. 

He just needed to get settled. It was a lot to carry two plates back when his hands were shaking every time the helicopter was heard on the breeze. He didn't mind holding the plates. One the second plate, he put extra butter, knowing full well that the butter would temper the spice of the chicken. 

He turned around, half expecting there to be voice saying he'd plied her with too much food. "Sam, do--" 

Everybody froze. Jake's grip on the plate wobbled and a pat of butter hit the ground. Jake would swear he heard it hit the ground just before his heart rate climbed.

She wasn't there. Sam wasn't here.   

Four. Things he could see. The food in his hands. The metal of the plates. The horses. Ace. 

Three. Things he could feel. The rush of his blood. The heat from where Grace was cooking. The ache in his chest, right near the spot that Sam's head nestled against his body. 

Two. Things he could smell. Chicken. Smoke. 

One. Thing he could hear. The soft breath nearest to him. Pepper. 

"Anybody want this extra chicken?" Jake asked, when he exhaled. "I can't eat it."

Jake tried to play it cool, but he couldn't eat at all. He sat next to Nate. Nate nudged him with his shoe, "You're okay, Jake."

Jake could barely reply. "I know."

It wasn't him he was worried about. Jake reached into his box of gummies. He was running low, not on the food, but on the index cards tucked inside. He was trying to ration himself. He was trying, but he needed them. He really did. He consoled himself with knowing that he never knew where she'd stuck one.  

Jake thumbed over the cards that were already worn, and glanced at the top one as though he were digging in the box. To anyone who looked closely, he was intently staring at his snacks, not at the card that read very simply: 

 _When you read this, I'm thinking about you. Except if_ Iron Jawed Angels _is on, in which case, I'm totally thinking about smashing the patriarchy. But then I'm always thinking about that._

_My mind is a wondrous place._

_Some advice from the worst movie ever:_

_Never feed a llama ham. Even if she is a fat lard._

_I love you._

To anyone else, that would seem silly, meaningless.

Sam hated the banal plot, the way the actors wore their FFA jackets. She hated the whole movie. Last time it had been on in the background, Sam's brow had furrowed and then she'd said, "One day, I'm going to have llamas."

Sam was telling him to place his hope in the future, not in the present.

 

_A buzzard took a monkey for a ride in the air_

_The monkey thought that everything was on the square_

_The buzzard tried to throw the monkey off of his back_

_The monkey grabbed his neck and said, "Now listen, Jack"_

_Straighten up and fly right_

_Straighten up and stay right_

_Straighten up and fly right_

_Cool down, Papa, don't you blow your top_

Straighten Up and Fly Right, The Andrews Sisters

 

"Look, George." Sam said for the fourth time, "We did not order blue carpet, and I won't accept it."

Sam rolled her eyes to share with Darrell what was going on. George had been jerking her around for two days, insisting that they had ordered blue carpets. Matrona thought they would be cool, but blue was not on the plan.

They were sitting in the pizza place off of the interstate near Elko, and Sam tried to be mindful of the other people in the restaurant. "Look, ma'am. Someone ordered the carpet, we dropped off the carpet for your guys to install, it's done."

That meant that the carpet was sitting in the driveway, the dirt and rock driveway at the house no one was monitoring.

Where was George's head? Sam pushed away her pizza as Darrell stared at her. She had pulled it apart to try and eat it, but it had done no good.

"It's not done, because it's not our carpet. We've ordered carpets from you for over seven homes, George, seven in the last year, and that split-level had more carpet than a showroom." Sam was calm, quiet, and insistent, "You can be sure that if we cannot resolve this before close today, that any future business won't be coming your way, not from the company, and certainly not from my friends or family." Sam said, and she wasn't even bluffing.

"Don't try and manipulate me." George said, clearly taken aback. She had never had much cause to deal with George, always picking the carpets quickly. She never liked the idea of spending money that wasn't hers, even indirectly.

"I'm not." Sam knew that she was going to have to take the reins on this even though she just wanted to lock out the world, "Are you willing to take the chance that you're wrong? All I'd like is the carpets that were ordered, that we spent our money on and paid you for. Now." Sam ripped a whole chapter out of Gram's playbook "How can I help you to resolve this? I'd be glad to stop by your shop, how's that?"

Sam offered, "Alternatively, you can talk to your guys, and find my carpets. They're being installed, and I can only wait so long. I'll expect your call that they've been delivered before closing. I'd be glad to pick them up, if you think that'll help you."

"How thoughtful." George grumbled, and they ended the call.

Sam figured that she was, after all, she'd come to the man with a solution for a problem she had not caused.

Sam sighed, when she hung up the phone.

She and Darrell had dropped Matrona and Regina off at the station, and Sam couldn't help but feel relief. She could barely pay attention to conversations, there was so much energy that went into putting out a social front.

Sam didn't have to do that with Darrell. She didn't much care if Dare was disappointed in her. Matrona would be, and she owed Matrona the respect of being a proper hostess.

Darrell tore into his pizza, "So I guess you want your carpets the way you want them, when you want them, huh?"

Sam sipped her water, "Don't talk with your mouth full." It was nauseating.

Sam just wanted to go home.

Darrell thought everything was funny. Sam pulled her medicine kit out of her bug out bag.

Sam set about pulling out some medication case, oblong and white, chalky and heavy.

"Don't bite my head off, honey." He paused, "What's that pill for?"

Sam looked up at him, and her throat hurt.

Jake said those same things, and in the end, he was gone and they were both suffering for it. "Pain." Sam said, dully, "Pain."

 

_Smell the rain, hear the thunder the midnight sky, turns black as death_

_The lightnin' crashes, smell the sulfur, it's rank and strong, it's Satan's breath_

_The cattle rise up and go to runnin'_

_I spur my pony on and take the lead_

_And across the herd, I can hear Willie yellin' "Hey stampede!"_

_And I can feel the demons racin' through my blood_

_Then all at once, my pony stumbles_

_We hit the ground, I rise up to my knees_

_In the flash of light, I can see the cattle comin'_

_Lord I know I'm gonna die in this stampede_

_Stampede_ , Chris LeDoux

Jake was going to stab him with a letter opener, and leave him to bleed. "Do not eat my gummies." Jake almost growled the warning, a low pulse of fury gushing in his veins as Nate bit off the pink one's head. "They're mine."

Nate popped the rest of the the princess into his mouth, and chewed. "You can share." The fire was a warm balm in the spring night, but Jake thought that his brother better stopping grinning, all the same.

Jake scuffled to grab the box from Nate as it rested between them. He took it with force. The crowd was too large to hide his motivations. His letters were in there, and he wasn't about to let Nate read what Sam had written, even if he would never understand it. 

Pepper, every last one of his brothers, minus Kit, and J.J. were hanging around. Ross, Dallas, Dad, Wyatt, and Grace were working away from what they called the young people.

J.J. taunted, "Careful those don't turn you into a Disney Princess."

Jake ignored him, and grabbed his box back. He could be anything he wanted to be, and that sort of talk wasn't worth considering.

Quinn took a gummy from Nate. Quinn defended his brother, "At least Jasmine would know better than to leave a gate open."

J.J. colored. "It was a mistake."

"Greenhorn." Pepper said, staring into the popping brush. "It happens."

Jake shifted. He just wanted to get this drive over with and go home. Jake shifted the snap-ice packet against his body. His ribs were aching after days in the saddle. They were all stupid, and he was stuck with them, and he hated them.

"No one gave Sam a bit of trouble about her dip in the river, and I get my behind handed to me over a gate. It's not like I hurt somebody's ribs so bad they're icing them. How is that fair?" J.J. lashed out, his embarrassment coming to the fore. "How is that fair and equal?"

"It's not." Jake said, simply. J.J. wasn't her equal. J.J. would never be anything close to her equal in any sense that mattered. Further, the fact that he knew nothing about the dynamics that had gone on at home was a good point. It just went to show was how little J.J. knew. But that was a good thing, because family issues were family issues, and J.J. was not family.

Pepper and his brothers knew what Jake meant, and let the matter be as they sat in silence.

The night was heavy. The fire crackled. J.J. spoke, "So then you admit that you treat her differently because she's a girl." He seemed to be triumphant, as though he had discredited Sam's strength by pointing out that she was his better.

Jake shook his head, meeting J.J.'s eyes through the flames, though they made his eyes bleary. "You misunderstood. It's not equal, because you are not her equal." Jake said, coldly, "There is a power differential there, but it's not skewed towards you."

Jake's ribs were killing him. He had been sleeping on the ground for days, missed his mother, missed Sam, missed his dog, missed his horse, and was fed up. Jake didn't care anymore, how what he said sounded. "You just stay away from my family, do you understand me?"

Jake didn't know how much clearer to be. Hitting the kid would do no good. He didn't hit idiot children. He didn't hit kids period, and J.J. was too close to that line to feel ethical about wanting to hurt him. He didn't want him to hurt, Jake realized, he just wanted him to understand.

J.J. didn't back down. He was slowly being evaluated by Quinn. Jake could feel the tensity of his muscles, the tilt of his head towards Nate. Nate blinked at him. Quinn restrained himself. J.J. saw none of this as he returned, "She's responsible for your injuries, and you're defending her."

"Why do you care?" Jake asked, "What's your motivation here?" He was desperately trying to deescalate a situation he had caused, at least in part. Sam had not hurt him, but even if she had, what happened between them stayed between them. 

The wind shifted, and Jake thought he was being triggered, but Jake realized that he had been hearing choppers all day, and his mind was just on edge. He dismissed the idea, and tried to focus on this conversation that was going on before him.

J.J. was perhaps a bit too honest in his assessment of Sam. Jake knew that he wanted Sam in his life in a way that would never happen, but J.J. confirmed it, and Jake knew that there was no hope. "I think she's a spoiled brat, and you don't even care that she's the reason you're a mess." J.J. grabbed the box of gummies, and decided to put his gross fingers all over them. He kept talking, but Jake didn't hear him as he felt the ground shake. He felt the wind shift, and he knew. 

"Shut the hell up about my sister." Quinn ordered. Jake knew he was always hotheaded about defending Sam. 

The night was heavy. The fire crackled. J.J. spoke, "So then you admit that you treat her differently because she's a girl." He seemed to be triumphant, as though he had discredited Sam's strength by pointing out that she was his better.

Jake shook his head, meeting J.J.'s eyes through the flames, though they made his eyes feel bleary. "You misunderstood. It's not equal, because you are not her equal." Jake said, coldly, "There is a power differential there, but it's not skewed towards you."

J.J. took umbrage to his calm statement of facts, and the way he was ignored when he looked around for someone to call Jake out on his words. "That's a pretty gutsy thing to say."

Jake was so tired of his pettiness. He wanted to get this done, get this done, and go home. J.J. was just throwing up more roadblocks. He was furious, and he was done trying to be the guy who had it all together.

"It's pretty gutsy to corner a woman, behind a closed door, in her office when she cuts your paycheck, knowing damn well that you showed up there to intimidate and shame her, now isn't it?" Jake volleyed back. 

Several voices rose at once.

Nate ordered, "Wait."

"Stop." Seth insisted, and Jake recalled that they knew nothing of why he so loathed J.J.

They had only hated him on principle, because they had siblings that really disliked him, and they stuck by each other.

Adam was the voice of reason, which wasn't saying much."You need to repeat that, because I did not hear..."

Even Pepper looked splotchy and angry, and Jake realized that he too, had never known the full story.

The ice against Jake's side felt colder as his blood rushed. The wind blew, and Jake knew that it was carrying away any sense of pretense he'd ever had. J.J., Jake saw, was just an overgrown kid.

He had not seen enough of life to know how it went, and Jake didn't want to get involved. He just wanted to draw boundaries.

"She doesn't cut my paycheck." J.J. said, "And I apologized!" A low exhalation was heard from Seth. 

It took guts to glom onto things like that in front of five men that had a very good reason to pull out his teeth with pliers, one by one. J.J. saw reason. "I apologized!" J.J. said, "But if you want the truth, I'm not sure what she does, except you. Who knows, though?" 

"You son of a bitch!" Pepper spat, throwing a punch so fast and so hard that even Jake's neck snapped back as he surged to his feet. 

Movement filled the air, as Pepper proceeded to stand over J.J., his boot driving into the boy's stomach,"You stupid motherfucker, you want to keep going? There's nobody else for miles. You better think carefully. I see you, I see you, skulking around, and don't you think I don't know what it means."

J.J. wheezed, and threw his weight hard to the right. 

Pepper didn't even need to shift to keep the upper hand. 

It told him all he needed to know. Again. 

He had to do the right thing. 

Quinn said, "Let him up." He was angry, "I won't kick the shit out of him while his pinned."

This wasn't right. Jake looked Pepper in the eye. "He's a kid, Pep, let him go. Anything you do now validates him."

Pepper didn't move, deadly still. "I want..." 

There was a hand on his shoulder, either supportive or restraining he did not know. Nate was there. 

Adam and Seth were deadly still. This was bad. This was very bad. 

Jake knew what J.J. was facing, even if he did not, talking smack. The boy had no chance against Pepper and Quinn. Add anyone else, and...

"If you love her, Pepper, let him go." Jake deliberately spoke, not only to Pepper, but to everyone else, "Sam wouldn't want this, wouldn't want anyone to suffer." 

"She's not here." Pepper all but yelled into the fading light, "She's not. And it's people like him that she's got to fight, and I…" 

"Yeah." Jake said, stepping forward, hauling J.J. to his feet. "But she trusted me to make this call and I'm telling you to let him go." 

Jake grabbed J.J. and hauled him to his feet. J.J. couldn't even take a punch, because he staggered and coughed, spitting blood on the ground, and groaned piteously, moaning about his back. 

"Land sakes!" Grace cried, "What's all this screaming?" 

Jake knew what it looked like, him holding J.J. by the collar as he dripped blood. Jake let him go with a shove. J.J. staggered, glaring. 

Pepper was totally at ease. "I punched J.J. before he got himself killed, ma'am." 

"I think he better tell us what's going on. Now." Adam ordered, harshly. Jake looked around the loose circle of bodies, all prepared for a fight. 

"I agree." Grace's tone was strident, pressing J.J. when he was sullenly silent. "James?"

"Tell us what you said to her." Seth demanded, "You said it to her face, you can say it to ours." 

"Coward." Quinn goaded the boy when he said nothing, sticking out his chin. 

"I saw some things." He said, after a moment, covering his own behind, "I went to Sam to address them." 

Jake couldn't anticipate the dull roaring in his ears. "Don't lie to my grandmother." Jake snarled, "If you've got the guts to corner a woman in her office, shame her, threaten her, and call her a whore, you better own what you said and why you said it." 

Jake's fury rose when J.J. covered his tracks as the loose grouping of people must have scared the crap out of him. "I never used that word."  J.J. blurted, "I just told her that she owed her father the respect of behaving with decency, if she had no self-respect." 

Grace's gasp broke into Jake's thoughts. 

"You told that she was damaging her father's reputation. You told her that she was shaming her family and her body. You said that she wasn't respectable, worthy of honor and respect. You said she would lose her standing in the church, in her family, unless she repented and confessed, because while she wasn't worthy of commitment and fidelity, that she owed discretion to whoever would take her place."

Jake let his words trail off, "And then you turned around, and said to my face that she wasn't worth even that much." 

Jake heard somebody grab Quinn's sleeve from behind him, yank him back. Jake had felt his brother behind him, like a loaded spring. 

It was Wyatt, obviously, because he spoke. "Sam never told me that. She never told me…" Wyatt broke off like flint shattering, adding, "And you came to me about horses." 

"Did I leave anything out?" Jake said, his words swirling around them. Without thinking, he stepped into J.J.'s space.  J.J. shook his head, and Jake let him back up, as J.J. hastened, nearly tripping over his own boots. "So don't give me shit about telling anyone you're better than she is, because the only reason you have a place here is because that woman you shamed, castigated, and threatened, saw something in you. She hoped you would come to see the world on your own beyond what you'd been parroting." 

Dallas broke to the front, pushing Pepper to the side. "After this, I'm not sure he has one to go back to." 

With a snarl, J.J. kicked a rock towards the fire. He couldn't hear it over the  _swoop-swoop-thunk_ of an aircraft lowering for the night behind schedule. 

Jake turned on his heel when the rock turned out not to be a rock. J.J.'s temper had sent the box of gummies, and the contents, the days and days of letters and index cards, poems, postcards, and pictures, into the flames. 

He couldn't breathe as the air stilled. He knew that he had tuned everyone out, because he heard Adam say, "Jake."

People were moving around him.

Jake felt fuzzy. He was disassociating.

Jake felt himself floating away and he welcomed it.

Somebody said, "Peppermint."

"Sam carries it." Somebody else said, and Jake couldn't ground himself anymore.

He didn't even know how to try. 

She wasn't here.

She was gone, gone, gone, and his mind insisted it knew why.

Jake started to shake, as a chopper flew overhead, circling again as they headed toward their landing pad for the night, a bit behind schedule it seemed. The scene before him faded away, and he was back there.

The evening faded away, and it was a bright spring day again.

Deep in his memory, Jake closed his eyes.

The  _swoop-whoop-thunk_  overhead filled his soul, and he heard sirens, sirens, and screaming. He heard it all, saw it all, over and over and over, the worst moment of his life drew him in again, and this time, Jake knew he was not dreaming.

He was back there again.

He felt the dig of his nails into his palm, and reality faded. Blood and screaming and death and loss filled his vision, and tears dripped onto his hands as he screamed. The blood was coating his hands, and he was powerless to stop this loss.

 

_He says her name, it echoes in my head like it was a canyon_

_He says her name, he says it and I know what's up_

_You come to me sometimes when I'm thinking like a cannonball shooting out a canyon_

_And I forget whatever it was I was thinking about_

_With everything changing how am I to know_

_How I'm going to hold on to you when I'm spinning out of control_

_Everybody Knows_ , Ryan Adams

Sam hated that she was so glad Matrona was home. Having her here had been great, but it had also been challenging in ways that Sam couldn't quantify. Cougar and Siger were in a big pile on her bed. Sam couldn't sleep.

She was going on ten days without a solid night of sleep. She felt nothing but guilt. Her guilt was eating her alive.

Sam pushed out of bed, and the dog padded down the hall.

Sam went into Max's room. "Max." Sam whispered, wondering how long it had been since she had woken Max in the middle of the night like this.

Max did not stir. "Max." Nothing. The blonde lady in the bed did nothing.

Finally, after a second, Sam did the logical thing. "Mom."

Her eyes popped open and Max looked around for the sound, like she had somehow been trained to pick the word out of a crowd, even in a dead sleep. "Sammy?" Max said, sitting up.

Sam wished that she could sleep on her back.

She wished that she could sleep.

She was just so tired, so very tired of her cold bed, and trying to pretend that Jake was just downstairs doing something. The fantasy wore thin quickly because she wanted to be there with him, wherever he was, and she was tired of crying, waking up with her throat raw, like she had never been asleep at all. "I can't do this anymore."

She hadn't slept in days. She couldn't find a space in her brain that allowed her to even breathe. But at the same time, she couldn't keep up the front that she had poured all of her energy into over the last days. She was only not breaking by sheer force of will.

She was crumbling, deep inside, the sadness she had blocked with hard work. It had happened os many times, both now and in rehab, that she thought she could handle it. But now, when she was thinking about how easy it would be to fall, fall, fall, she knew she needed help.

Max understood the brutal honesty in her voice. Sam knew she must. 

"Come on up here, okay?" Max scooted over, and patted the bed. It had been a very long time since Sam had crawled into this big bed with Max. She had grown out of the silly habit of coming in here when she was old enough to understand boundaries. But sometimes, she felt like the little gap-toothed girl that had played with her barbies on this bed when no one was looking.

Sam hauled herself with a bit of help onto the bed, and put her head on the pillow, facing the only mother she had ever really remembered. Max whispered, "I know you miss everybody, baby. It's okay to say it."

"I promised that I would tell people what I need." Sam whispered, "But even if I did, I can't have them all, because they're gone, and we're here, and it hurts." The sheets were heavy over her, and the walls seemed to be closing in on her.

The dog hopped up on the bed, a huge no-no in this room, but Max allowed it. Gal placed herself over Sam's torso. Sam sniffed, holding back tears. Max's touch was gentle on her shoulder, "I'm so proud of you."

Sam knew that there wasn't much to be proud of. She had pushed away a good friend because she couldn't get beyond her own feelings. She hadn't been able to really relax in ages.

She was more unglued than she had been in months. She had regressed. She was mopey and snappish and driven and distracted all at once, and all she really wanted was Nate to argue with her for the sake of doing so, and Jake to soothe her feathers only to ruffle her up again.

She got lost in her memories as Max's breathing evened out next to her, wondering how she was going to make it to the weekend.

 

_Every now and then I get a little bit lonely and you're never coming round_

_Every now and then I get a little bit tired of listening to the sound of my tears_

_Every now and then I get a little bit angry and I know I've got to get out and cry_

_And I need you now tonight and I need you more than ever_

_And if you only hold me tight we'll be holding on forever_

_I don't know what to do and I'm always in the dark_

_We're living in a powder keg and giving off sparks_

_I really need you tonight_

_Total Eclipse of the Heart,_ Bonnie Tyler

"What did I do wrong?" Dad said, "Where did I screw up with all of you?" Dad's voice was low as he stared over Jake's shoulder. "You pushed him and teased all day, and I am ashamed."

Jake winced, trying to avoid his father's ire. He didn't want his brothers to get in trouble with their father because of him. "I just wanted my box of gummies." He could barely breathe. He couldn't see much, as the lanterns shining hurt his eyes. "I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for." Dad's reply was almost instant. "You are all too old for this."

He was furious, and Jake couldn't stop shaking. "We are out here working, and you know this is hard for him in ways you will never understand, and he did not have your support. I expect more, and I am ashamed of this behavior.  J.J only knew to kick that box, only knew what it meant to Jake, because you called attention to it at every tern."

"J.J. can eat lead after what he said about Sam." Jake snapped, angry and unfiltered. "I know I'm at the edge of my rope here, and..." He didn't want Dad to blame his brothers. No one was responsible for his behavior but him, even if he could not control it.

Wyatt cut him off. "We know, Jake."

Jake did not want Wyatt here, but he was struggling too much to tell him to go away. Jake wasn't real clear on what had happened recently. The first thing he could recall in a while was Adam saying over and over and over that the chopper was gone and that everybody he loved was fine.

"Stop!" Jake pushed to his feet, almost screaming, "You don't know! You have no clue what this is like!" Jake was breathing hard, having blurted out things he knew he had never planned to say. "You have no idea what it's like to have to be back out here, and living those moments over and over and over, and all I can see and hear is her dying and being powerless to stop it! You don't know, because you think you're God and can play with our lives!"

Jake felt rage coursing through his heart, pounding in his ears. He always felt shaken after a flashback and dissociative episode, though rarely did they get so bad as for him to completely lose touch with reality.

Normally, Sam was there to ground him, hold the monsters in his soul at bay. At the very least, she gave him the reasons to try.

Wyatt tried again, "J.J. said he goaded you. He had no right to do that."

Jake didn't want to be their topic of discussion. J.J. knew nothing if he thought this had anything to do with him. "It was the chopper." His muscles bunched, "You hired that guy to replace her, and you expect me to look at him day in and day out and not hate his guts. It seems to me that you should be questioning your own sanity, not mine."

"Hey!" Adam broke in, "Nobody questions your sanity. You did…the right thing, with that kid. You behaved with integrity."

Jake couldn't bring himself to drink the water that his brother pressed into his hands. His hands were still shaking violently. Still, he fumbled with the cap of the canteen. He made the mistake of trying to drink it, trying to prove to them that he hadn't lost every ability to function.

The water filled his mouth, and he felt like he was drowning. He couldn't swallow it, but he forced the action. Jake coughed, coughed, and realized that they might not question his sanity, but he did. He questioned everything about these last weeks.

He was never going to know what that card said. 

Jake looked to the stars. 

_I hang my head and I advertise a soul for sale or rent_

_I have no heart, I'm cold inside_

_I have no real intent_

_Save me Save me Save me_

_I can't face this life alone_

_Save me Save me Oh..._

_I'm naked and I'm far from home_

_Each night I cry, I still believe the lie_

_I'll love you 'til I die_

_Save Me_ , Queen

Sam slipped out of the house, down the ramp that she was pretty sure nobody had any intention of moving, and across the yard. She looked up at the stars, and wondered which one Jake was staring at at this very moment.

She pulled the gate open, entered the pasture, and wheeled her way across the grass and the dirt in the fading light. An inky body was soon next to hers. Sam had hoped she would be able to see them both together, but her arms were aching.

She could not wheel another foot.

Sam whispered, "Witch." Sam said, "I'm sorry. I made this mistake with you guys once, and I won't do it again. So uhm." Sam's eyes filled with tears, "I guess you won't tell on me if I cry?"

Witch lifted her head, and picked up a hoof daintily. 

It was all the invitation Sam needed. She spent hours with these horses, but hadn't been completely honest with them. She had pretended she was okay. 

Sam saw another horse, visiting though she was, moving through the pasture, Sam's heart thudded in her chest. Sam closed her eyes, and hoped that she had learned something from all of her mistakes, and that she would be welcomed.

When she felt Kitty nudging her shoulder, Sam knew that they would be okay. This time, they could get each other through the hell their world had become.

_I don't want to talk to anyone_

_I don't want to talk to anyone_

_All the words that used to work are melted in the sun_

_And I don't want to talk to anyone_

_Faces look familiar, but they don't have names_

_Towns I used to live in have been rearranged_

_Highways I once traveled down don't look the same_

_Everything has changed_

_Everything Has Changed,_ Lucinda Williams


	5. Do I Wanna Know?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the conclusion of this story, which I **thought** I'd posted here long ago. I'm glad I checked in preparation for the next installment, Run. That'll go live within days.

_And I will stay up through the night_  
_Let's be clear, I won't close my eyes_  
_And I know that I can survive_  
_I walked through fire to save my life_  
_And I want it, I want my life so bad_  
_And I'm doing everything I can_

Elastic Heart,Sia

 _  
_ Sam brushed a bit of wood out of her hair, and threw all of her weight down into her arms, ripping the broken piece of cabinet off of the wall with force. It took all of her body weight to tear away the cheap 1980s pressed wood. Sam dropped it down on the ground, and grabbed another portion of the bottom shelf and chucked it behind her. Sam didn’t wait for it to hit the ground before turning back to her task. 

Who the hell put kitchen cabintery in a bathroom and didn’t expect the wood to warp, given the lack of ventilation?  

She kept on working, as the DJ spoke from the windowsill, putting track after track on the satiltie radio. Sam demoed the bathroom, well, within reason. She couldn’t pull out the sink, move the toilet, or anything big, but she could sit in the shower and chip away broken and beat up tile. She could pull off fixtures, remove light covers, and suchlike. It took ages, but she did it. It probably wasn't the safest choice, but she needed the risk.

The sweat poured off of her, but she could work, and so she did, until the light shifted and she became aware of the passage of time. Sam was picking tile off of the floor, holding onto the sink to lean down, picking up what she could, and kicking the rest into a pile. Her boots were dusty, her clothes were dirty, but the main bathroom was demoed. Sam felt a sense of satisfaction, and, once, just because she could, swung her hammer into the door that was going to go just as soon as she could get her hands on a screwdriver. 

It felt good. It felt very good.

It felt like spinning in a swing, that sick, uneasy, scared feeling that felt right, felt better than contentment in this moment ever might. 

That feeling faded, though, as Sam sat down on her chair, just to catch a second as she reached down into her toolbox.

She was doing this.

Dave Matthews’ voice bounced off the walls, and floated into her ears. Sam loved her toolbox. It was heavy, now, in a way it had never been, but the tools were as used and as beloved as any other person’s might be. With ease, she found the screwdriver, and noticed the scrape on her knuckles. 

Sam brought her hand up to her lips, pressed the raw flesh onto her chapped and dry lips. These hours were the hardest, the moments where daylight waned and the work slowed enough to leave room for soft moments and silly smiles. If Jake were home, he’d be rolling his eyes at her. Quinn would be teasing. Her life would feel full, whereas now it felt like a series of moments that were so empty they resounded with potential that made Sam ache inside.

Their potential went unfullfilled. 

Well. Not entirely.

Sam found solace in the work, found meaning in lacing up her boots, and getting things done. She wasn’t going to waste away, not if she could help it. She wasn’t some horrible book heroine, who threw herself off of cliffs, only to hear the voice of some loser who’d ditched her because he didn’t respect her enough to be real with her. It was all bullshit, and Sam wasn’t going to let that happen to her. 

So, she ripped apart bathrooms, spray-painted big X’s on walls and only wheezed some of the time, and ripped apart walls, doors, and showers, reveling in her aching body. And sometimes, when she had a screwdriver in her hand, she leaned back against her wheelchair and let out a shuddering sigh of unease. Her lungs felt tight, and it had nothing to do with the fumes from the spray paint. 

 

 _Little boxes on the hillside_  
_Little boxes made of ticky tacky_  
_Little boxes_  
_Little boxes_  
_Little boxes all the same_  
_There's a green one and a pink one_  
_And a blue one and a yellow one_  
_And they're all made out of ticky tacky_  
_And they all look just the same_

 _Little Boxes_ , Pete Seeger 

Jake washed his hands, and sniffed at the greywater safe soap. It smelled like lemongrass, a jarring scent to wake up the tired range rat, should ever they need it. Jake didn’t need to be roused. He didn’t sleep much, truth told. 

Jake was on his way back to the table, when Quinn loped up behind him, coming to his point quickly, with a glint in his eyes. “Trying to prove you aren’t thirteen, or something?” 

Jake scowled, unsure what Quinn meant, what he wanted now. There was always something with one of them, at some point. Jake loved his brothers, but sometimes, he didn’t much like them. Right now, he hated everything and everyone. 

Quinn continued, neither wanting a reply or minding that he didn’t give one. “I’m just saying. You’ve got a bit of scruffy thing going on...” Quinn poked him in the face, and Jake shoved him off of his body, “Right there on your face.” 

Jake did not give him the satisfaction of rubbing at his poked cheek. 

Quinn chortled, nothing the twitch of Jake’s fingers as they walked, Jake keeping up the pace before Quinn put his dirty fingers all up in his face. “Did you know?” 

Jake couldn’t help but reply. “What do you want, Quinn?” 

So what? He didn't feel like shaving. So what?

“Nothing.” Quinn hedged, “This look is good for you. You look less like a girl, with all that hair and whatever.” 

Jake huffed. Quinn was just jealous. At least that’s what Sam said. Jake didn’t give the matter much thought, so he was content to trust her judgement. “What’s your point?” 

Suddenly, there was a camera in his face, “Say ‘At least I brush my teeth!’” 

The flash went off before Jake could tell Quinn to get away or turn to the side, and Quinn saw the digital result with satisfaction crossing her features. “Eh, not bad.” 

“What are you up to?” Jake asked, trying to reach for the camera. It was a small point-and-shoot, one they left in the van for emergencies. There was extra batteries, a memory card, and two rolls of extra film in the bag. Not that it used film, but Mom was forever forgetting film for her own cameras. 

“I’m Nellie Bly.” Quinn pursed his lips, like he was thinking really hard about what to say next. 

Jake knew he was a glutton for punishment as soon as the word left his mouth. He grabbed Quinn’s arm and pulled them both to a stop, “What?” 

“So, are you digging this look? Planning on keeping it? Is it a social commentary? Are you embracing patriachal norms?” Quinn’s smile peeked out from behind his eyes, impish and bright, and just like that, Jake knew. 

Jake _knew,_ and he loved Quinn for it.

“You’re an idiot.” Jake couldn’t help but feel a surge of fondness. 

Quinn shrugged, “I’m just asking the questions the world wants to know.” 

Jake huffed again. 

“I think it’s good.” Quinn said, “You look less dopey.” He amends quickly, “But I think you should know that you’re not the one who has to look at your stupid face everyday.” 

“Again.” Jake grinned, “Idiot.” 

 _You let me fly your kite but when I dropped the string._  
_I thought my life was over, but Mama rescued me._  
_When I was just a kid you taught my prayers to me._  
_Then you turned around and you told me about those birds and bees._  
_Come what may, you've been endeared to me,_  
_Because we share these childhood memories._

 _Childhood Memories_ , Iris DeMent 

  
“You are an idiot.” Darrell snapped, holding onto the end of the shelf. “If you don’t stop doing what I think you’re doing, I am going to pull you off that ladder and haul you home, and lady, you don’t want that to happen.” 

Sam rolled her eyes, finding her spot on the shelf in the old pantry closet.

Before she’d begun to clean them, it they been covered in moldy foods, and gross canned goods that had expired in 1986, and taken on a life of their own somewhere around 2000.  “As if you could.” 

She threw another canned good in the trash, almost hitting Darrell. She was a bit dizzy, and her aim was true only through rote action. 

“Don’t test me.” Darrell said, glaring up at her, as she looked into the dark recesses of a gross shelf that clearly had living occupants. “We’re going now. This has gone far enough.” 

“Alright.” Sam allowed, stepping up the ladder one more step for better leverage, “Just lock the door behind you.” 

“Samantha.” Darrell’s voice was wobbly. “I can’t help you. I don’t know how.” 

“I don’t need any help.” With that, Sam stepped up and reached for the back corner of the shelf, whooshing triumphantly when her fingers settle on some misshapen lump that Sam thought might have once been flour, not that it bore much consideration. She used her gloved fingernails to haul the flour forward, slowly,  “I just need a bit of time.” 

Thankfully, she could do this alone, and blessedly, the bottom of the bag was rock solid, rancid, not rotten. “Not on a ladder. Not all the time. Not when you haunt the place like the ghost in the girl's bathroom.” 

“Darrell.” Sam kicked her foot back, and careflly dropped it on to the lower rung. She felt Darrell move behind her. “I am doing this.” 

“Why?” Darrell steps back, angry movements and wide eyes as she finished climbing down, “Because you have something to prove?” 

“Because there’s nothing I need to prove to anybody.” Sam prostested, realizing she had left the bucket for hot water in the kitchen, which is the only place in here that still had running water. “And there is work to be done. What’s really your problem?” 

Darrell blinked as they moved into the brighter kitchen, with its wide window above the sink. “I didn’t want to tell you.” 

Sam reached for the cleaning solution, and squirted some in the bottom of her  empty bucket, the lemon scent filling her senses. Sam paused, looking back over her shoulder at the man behind her, “You’re going to have to if you want to make sense.” 

“I know.” Darrell began, a note of resignation in his voice. 

Sam placed the cleaner back on the counter and turned to fully face him, as he looked at the wall behind her, “Back--” Darrell plowed forward, “When you were in San Fransisco, we had this house, that old one down by the recycling plant. I was out that way, and one day I stopped by to check on things because I thought nothing was getting done, and I didn’t want someone to strip the copper.” Darrell referenced the common theft of valuable metals in the wrining and plumbing of most older houses. 

Sam stayed silent. 

Darrell continued, “So I get out of the  truck, and I start hearing this sound, _bang, bang, thunk,_ over and over and over again. I’m not armed, so I start thinking, ‘Fuck, the hell I’m gonna do out here?’ with things being stolen.” 

Sam broke in, “But the house was fine.” 

Darrell smiled wryly, “Sure, and yeah, the house was fine. So I decide to creep in the front, which was open, and I go in, and the house was silent by then, so I moved quicker, thinking they’re going back out the sliding glass door, because I hadn’t seen a truck out front.” 

Sam knew that house had had a little place to park, hidden around back, that you couldn’t see from the front of the house. “So you’re creeping like James Bond...” 

“No, I’m just about to go running, and call out, but something told me not to give myself away as I went towards the living room....” Darrell broke off, and Sam knew that this was something she has never really heard before, “I can’t tell you this. I won’t do this to you. I won't put this shit in your head.” 

“Darrell.” Sam spoke softly, “If it’s something you think you need to tell me, then I can handle knowing. I can.” Sam had a sneaking suspicision that this was something big to Darrell, and so she wasn’t about to put words in his mouth. 

Darrell looked right at her, wide eyed, stoic, “Jake was putting in flooring. He didn’t see me. Can you believe that?” 

Sam did find that a little hard to believe. Typically, Jake was very aware of his surroundings. He was a tracker, after all. She tried to smile, show Darrell that painful memories didn’t have to stay that way, that there could be funny moments mixed in with the sadness. 

Darrell didn’t return the gesture. He looked like he was about to cry.

The smile fell from Sam's face in a second. 

Darrell's voice was thick. “So Jake didn’t see me, his back was to me, and he’d pushed up to sit on his knees.” Darrell’s voice dropped,  “And I stood there, watched my best friend pick up the nail gun, hold it above the floor, turn it to its side, and stare. He stared, Sam, at that stupid nail gun like it something he’d never seen before, never undersood---” 

Sam broke into what Darrell was saying, “Darrell, Jake was never, never not once, suicidal.” Sam didn’t confess that she had dealt with sucidial idiations more times than she could honestly quantify. This wasn’t about her. 

“When he was with you, when he was with you, Sam, he had no reason to be, but you weren’t here to see him, and he’d never tell you.” Darrell was quiet, and there was a truth in his voice that Sam didn’t know how to consider or accept. “But I know. I know what he was thinking. I know he was seconds away from blowing his brains out with that nail gun. And I just screamed his name...” 

Darrell exhaled, as Sam put together rapidly rising emotions, “I’m so sorry you went through that, Dare. I’m so sorry.” 

“I shouted his name, and he played it off like a nail was bent...” Darrell shook his shoulders, “And I know you’re both doing so much better, but you being alone is hard for me, not because I don’t think you can do this, alone, but because I know...” Darrell stopped, not willing to continue. 

Sam understood, “Hey, it’s okay. This, this stuff, is just raw now with the drive. I get it.” 

“I’m not crazy.” Darrell blurted, “I know things are not the same.” 

“They sort of feel the same, sometimes.” Sam allowed, not bothering to hide the pain or the truth in her voice. It was a truth she’d accepted, “But they aren’t. Know why?” 

“Why?” Darrell’s mouth upticked at the corner, and Sam knew how self-concious he felt in this moment. 

Sam breathed, looked around the room, and back at her beloved friend, the boy who’d yanked on her ponytail, and the young man who loved her with a deep, abiding, affection that was pure and true. “Because we’re going to go now, and we’re going to go steal the keys to the Charger, and we’re going to try to double every speed limit between here and the county line.” 

Darrell grinned, “Why?” 

Sam realized that sometimes she could only internalze a lesson life had taught her when she shared it with someone else, and because she knew that Darrell wasn’t her. He didn’t need to confront his deamons by facing them, not now.

He just needed a moment in time to remember that he wasn’t in that place anymore, and to know that his mind didn’t have to stay there. “Because we lived, Darrell, and I’m not going to let those idiots out there have all the fun.”

 

 _There are days that you wonder_  
_Why you do what you do_  
_But it's a torch that you were handed_  
_Not just a lifestyle that you choose_  
  
_Hot 'n' tired and dusty_  
_And cold to the bone_

 _The Cowboy Way_ , Paul Bogart 

Jake blew out a breath and looked at the horizon.

He resisted the urge to just go, just leave. Ace understood, because he flicked his ears and pulled a bit, just enough for the cowpony to pull his attention back the present.

Jake reached down and patted his side. 

Ace had been a huge support. 

He chewed his gum, the mint flavor long since faded, leaving nothing behind but a plasticy residue in his mouth. They were getting ready to eat again, almost at the point where they’d have to delay this journey again. Jake couldn’t believe that another day had passed. He resented all of the time they spent doing nothing. It was a waste of time to put a meal on a plate. Why couldn’t they just put some calories in their bodies, rotate the horses, and go on? 

Jake knew the idea wasn’t sound, wasn’t wise, but it was a fantasy. He figured that if he kept on going, he could cut out most of the time wasting bullshit, get down to brass tacks, and get the job done, without compromising, health or safety. It was a pipe dream. 

Dinner, stopping for the night, came once again too soon. Jake figured everyone was getting tired. People were quiet, or they talked about nothing to fill the silence. Jake gave J.J. a wide bearth, but he knew the kid was terrified of him. He thought Jake was some kind of psychotic killer. Jake didn’t mind that much. 

He shrugged against his jacket, having settled in Ace and patted Digger, who was always wanting affection. He seemed to think that Jake was happy to give it, and Jake knew that the horse knew the truth. 

As he walked towards the campfire, Bryan called his name, “Jake, we’ve got chocolate.” 

Jake didn’t much think he wanted chocolate, but he knew he had to make an effort and take some. It wasn’t the good kind. It was America’s Best, not the crazy expensive European stuff Sam found cheap in the city and hoarded in her room. It wasn't the rich cocoa he tasted on her tongue, and its fake sweetness made him miss Sam even more. 

Jake took a bite, and tuned himself with some effort into the conversation going around him. “...I could stay out here for another decade....” Bryan advised, “Away from work, demands, customers.” 

Seth huffed, frowning, “Sure. You’re desperate for WiFi, liar.” 

Jake plopped down on an overturned bucket as Quinn threw his opinion in the mix, “I just want a warm shower, but I’m with you Bryan. We could rig a good one up and I’d be happy.” 

Adam broke in, “I’m getting arthritis.” He was chewing on a Kind Bar, like they weren’t going to eat within 10 minutes. “I swear I...”

They continued to talk, but he didn’t pay them any mind, beyond the cadance of their words. 

Jake cleared his throat, swallowing the last bit of chocolate in his mouth. It was then that he saw a Ritter Sport bar in the bag Bryan was sealing. The wrapper was funky, but he knew what it was.

It was the only one in the bag. 

Jake grabbed the bag from Bryan’s hands, not leaving his spot on the bucket, because Bryan gave it up with ease. They'd learned. 

Jake fished around until he grabbed the bar, tuning out the coversation around him. The outer wrapper around the foil covered bar slid off, and Jake saw writing on it. 

Breaking the seam, Jake noted that it had been carefully sealed with tape. The underside of the outer wrapper had writing on it. He pulled the tape apart and read, 

_If you’re busting into the chocolate, you must be almost home. Tell Adam to stop complaining about his arthritis  He doesn’t have arthritis, he just doesn’t stretch._

Jake folded the paper, carefully. “Sam says to stop complaining about your arthritis.”

“Buddy....” Seth said, breaking off what had been saying carefully. 

Jake barely resisted glaring, as he held up the folded wrapper. 

The looks of relief on their faces should have concerned Jake. By this point, though, he accepted it as normal. He smiled, thinking that they were close enough to home to break out the stash of chocolate.

 

_I look inside myself and see my heart is black_

_I see my red door I must have it painted black_

_Maybe then I'll fade away and not have to face the facts_

_It's not easy facing up when your whole world is black_

_No more will my green sea gourd turn a deeper blue_

_I could not foresee this thing happening to you_

_If I look hard enough into the setting sun_

_My love will laugh with me before the morning comes_

_Paint it Black_ , The Rolling Stones

 

Sam frowned, and stared at her face as her forearm came into the mirror. Those two things went well hand in hand, generally, though today her perceptions and evaluations of her own appearance were worse than usual, not that she could dredge up any emotion.

Sam poked at the bruise, like a child poking something dead they found in the woods with a stick. She was surprised, somehow, to find that jabbing her finger into the bruise made her arm throb.

This bruise was awful. It hurt a bit, but it just looked terrible. Sam pulled her sleeve back, and wondered how she could bruise so easily, just from resting her arm on the wood of the table for a long period of time as she tried to get through some school work.

She knew that's how she'd gotten it. She had only cut and bruised herself with the house earlier, and those marks were fading. 

It was distant. Removed. She didn't really care.

At least the bruises on her shins were covered by her yoga pants.

She was in too much pain for jeans, for seams, for anything, but she needed the pressure of the fabric that moulded to her body, because she hurt, hurt, hurt. She intended to put on a skirt when she got back to Three Ponies.

She wanted to scream in pain, scream in rage. Instead, she swallowed her spit, her salvia sticky and thick. 

She didn't want Darrell to walk in on her with her pants around her ankles. That wasn't the truth, even though it was an actual concern. The whole truth was that she simply didn't have the energy to even consider the action of changing right now.

She was angry at herself, angry that she couldn't bring herself to tell herself that she was better. She wanted to believe that she should be in a better place, but the fact was that she wasn't there.

Sam turned away from the mirror in the kitchen, and barely had a second before the toaster popped up.

The chocolate pop tart wasn't her ideal food, but she needed the sugar. Sugar did something to her chemically that helped her to manage pain, and she was too scared that her pain was psychosomatic to take another dose of pain meds.

She put another brick in the wall,the mental barrier against her pain. It wasn't high enough, the wall in her mind barely reaching three or four bricks high. She would need dozens more before she could lock the pain away. Her walls always seemed to tumble down at the worst moments, and she knew she was at the very end of her rope.

She had eaten 44 grams of sugar in the last four hours. Well, it soon would be 82 grams, thanks to Kellogg's and their manufactured toaster pastry.

The pastry nearly burned her fingers as she plopped it on a plate. Sam blew out a heavy breath as the cat came into the room. He kept staring at her like he knew something was wrong.

Cougar tilted his head, and Sam agreed. "I miss everybody, too." The low pain in her back made her twist, which made her hip ache, and her ribs feel like they had been snapped in half. She hoped she wasn't getting a kidney infection.

She wasn't getting a kidney infection. She knew it. She was acutely aware that their arrival wasn't going to fix a darn thing about her pain. She could not allow herself to think that way, even if she sometimes found herself thinking that she wouldn't be in so much pain when everyone came back.

 _If they would just come home_ was a dangerous way to think and contextualize her life. She wasn't going to build her joy around other people. She was going to change those feelings. How, she did not know. 

She just wanted someone to take care of her, to gather her close and lie to her that her body was wonderful, beautiful, and not an instrument of pain.

She wanted to to take care of somebody who needed her, not because they were weak or dependent, but because they respected her opinion, needed her with the same intensity she needed them. 

Sam couldn't really think beyond the moment, though, couldn't rationalize her desires. She felt pathetic and alone.

Today was the day.

By night, by dinnertime, her family would be home. Gram would maybe sigh at the crumbs she'd left on the counter, and Dad would be sitting, looking at her uneasily.Sam wanted that so badly, but she felt icy and numb. It was a deep wanting without the motivation to figure out how to get it. 

She plopped on the couch and tried to rip into the piping hot pastry. It burned her fingers, so she set it aside for a moment.

Sam shut her eyes. She hadn't had a night's sleep in something like 14 days. She had lost a little weight, and she guessed she looked scary, because Darrell kept trying to feed her things.He brought food from home, even, saying that his mother had just happened to make extra leftovers, like Max wasn't at her wits end trying to feed her.It wasn't that Sam was not eating. She wasn't choosing not to eat. She just wasn't hungry. 

It was a tiny bit endearing, even though the whole thing annoyed her. She simply wasn't hungry, though she knew she should be ravenous. She couldn't, however, force herself to eat that much.

The Pop Tart was about her limit. She didn't want to eat it, but she knew she needed to do it because with a sugar-crash would come the tiredness, and with the tiredness came the inability to sleep, with the inability to sleep came scarier things that she did not want to face with her coping skills so depleted.

Sam heard scuffling on the porch. Darrell came into the living room after a moment, and literally grinned so widely that she was worried his jaw might pop, "Pop Tarts?"

Sam didn't normally eat such things. If she was going to indulge, she was going to do it right, with real chocolate.

However, this wasn't about sensory pleasure and enjoyment. She was just trying to survive. The pastry was rather gross, so Sam put the last bit of the chocolate in her mouth. It made her feel buzzy and jittery. "Chocolate."

She set the plate down on the couch next to her, because Cougar had padded off to inspect his freshly cleaned litter box. He would no doubt kick the litter around in his zeal, as though no one ever scooped out his box. "Thank you, Dare."

He understood what she could never say. She knew that she could not have managed to keep things going these last two weeks. It had been hard to realize that she needed support, no matter how much she wanted to pretend that she did not. Sam knew that Darrell, as silly as he could be, was a bulwark of support for her in ways that she was only starting to see.

She loved him very, very, much.

Darrell's head dipped a bit. "Anytime." He was a great big teddy bear, loathe to take praise when he deserved it. He was good at putting up fronts.

They all were. It must be something they had developed as a unit. She would sooner eat a live cricket than tell anybody anything that made her vulnerable. Ella had tried to help her explore that, and knowing it made Sam a little more comfortable with the truth.

Sam smiled, "Don't blush, loser." He was such a goofball. Sam broke into the last bit of the pastry, and decided that the fake chocolate didn't taste all that badly. She knew she did not want to get used to them, but she knew she could, if she had to do it.

She couldn't anticipate anything more than her next breath. Anticipating felt like waiting, and waiting hurt.

Sam felt badly, about the whole visit with Matrona. It had gone pretty terribly. Sam should have known that she would be in no place to hang out with friends. She had avoided Millie's and Bree's and Eric's calls for days. Gina had the sense to text, and Sam had returned those.

Still, she felt like a bad friend to Matrona. She wondered sometimes if being home had changed her, yet again, if she wasn't the same person that she had been in San Francisco.

She knew that she would always love Matrona, but in the last few days, she had come to see that they had very little to say to each other over her visit. They knew each other so well that sometimes there was nothing to say when the truth hurt too badly. Seeing them off had almost felt like relief.

Sam could not pull things over on Matrona. She knew, too, that Darrell was smarter than she gave him credit for and that even he saw the pain in her teasing.

Her mind was a mess, like a train not stopping at stations to process thoughts as they came.

"You wish." He returned. "Ready?" Darrell looked around the silent kitchen, a ball forming in her stomach that rose to her throat. 

Sam knew they had to leave. She felt like she was in a ghost's home, even in her own house. Her house was just waiting, waiting, for life to come back to it, somehow.

While Darrell had been overseeing the goats and the ducks, Sam had come in to wipe down the counters. She'd done the bulk of the work with the animals, but the truth of the matter was that she was dizzy, so she came inside. 

Things were settled here. They were going to swing by Three Ponies, and then come back. 

Sam knew enough about the past months to stop when Darrell had gone ashen when she'd said she was okay alone. The sorrow and pain on his expressive face had chilled her heart. Sam had not protested, or asked to be left alone again. She wasn't going to worry Darrell like that. 

Darrell took her elbow as they moved towards the stairs.

Sam worried her lip, staring at the floor before her. Her bones hurt, and no amount of pain pills, chocolate, or helping hands from Darrell could take that away. Her soul hurt so deeply that it was rattling at her bones.

Sam could hardly stand to look at herself. At least she hadn't written the poetry she'd tucked in Jake's stuff.

There was a line she was never, never, never going to cross, and holding fast to that line was the only thing keeping her going.

At least this time, she knew how to hide staring at the walls.

 

_Well I can hear my daddy now, he'd kick the dirt and cuss the ground_

_He'd say "Some days this farm will break a man down."_

_Lookin' back on it now, well I only wish I would-a listened_

_Instead of signing away my life into this agricultural prison_

_More than I can Handle,_  John D. Hale Band

 

"Wyatt." Mom said, grabbing his attention even as she said someone else's name.

Jake stopped, his hand on the swell. Dread built within him. Mom typically stayed with Grace, for the next few hours.

They were going to have a big dinner, later, after settling in, but Grace had things to put away and a kitchen to let be a mess while everything settled into place. Thankfully, there was a bit less to do at the end of this drive, as opposed to the one wherein the cows were brought back in, but that wasn't saying much. Maybe the work wasn't less, it was different sort of work.

It was different. Typically, they split off, each ranch going their own way. Not this year, though. 

So was this moment. This moment felt different than he had anticipated. It was silent and heavy, not bright and hopeful. His heart had been pounding for days, and it had slowed when they'd come into the yard, but it was picking up again, his mouth was drying out.

Jake couldn't swallow.

Ace was looking at him, wondering why he had stopped moving.

Jake didn't have the heart to open his mouth and tell the horse there was nothing to see, because his voice was stolen by the concern he saw on Mom's face when she looked at him, and then back at Wyatt. Jake didn't like the look on Mom's face.

She carefully spoke to Wyatt, and not to him. "She did well, but you need to know…" Mom stopped, glanced at him, "Well…" She'd already hugged every one of them like she hadn't seen them in a decade, and not two weeks. 

Jake blew out a breath.

He didn't like this awful habit people had of talking about Sam behind her back, like people needed to be warned before they interacted with her. It was horrible, and dehumanizing. Why not let people just be?

Still, he couldn't help but listen when Wyatt said, "That's good."

Jake decided that in that moment, he just needed to walk away, because he was going to crack a tooth with the effort of keeping his mouth shut.

Walking away was a coping skill.

Walking away was a survival skill that he had relied upon for ages, now.

Walking away, backing down was something he knew how to do.

Walking the fuck away had kept him alive. 

He saw the look that Nate was shooting him, and knew that Ace was in his hands, never mind the dent to his pride that would come later when he recalled that he hadn't put his horse's needs above his own.

Jake turned and walked toward the house. He felt the index card in his back pocket, worn and a bit tattered and burnt around the edge. It was an odd detail to feel so deeply as he walked towards the house.

He didn't know what it meant. The house at River Bend looked like it always did.

Jake avoided the front door, and headed around to the side. The cat was staring out of the window, and licked his paw as Jake walked by. Jake hardly saw him, because he hopped down just as Jake heard movement.

He heard a door slam, heard the thunk of feet over the slight ledge, and his heart began to pound so hard that he thought he was going to pass out. He thought maybe his ears were ringing.

He tried his best not to run.

What was Mom's definition of well? Why had she felt the need to warn them that Sam was okay? Why had she looked at him meaningfully when she spoke, as though she was telling him something?

Jake had questions and no answers.

 _I paced around for hours on empty_  
_I jumped at the slightest of sounds_  
_And I couldn't stand the person inside me_  
_I turned all the mirrors around_  
  
_I'm bigger than my body_  
_I'm colder than this home_  
_I'm meaner than my demons_  
_I'm bigger than these bones_

 _Control,_ Halsey 

Jake's jacket was coarse under her fingers, the fabric gathering tight as she wrapped her arms around him, the sinewy muscles of his body contracting as he held her. Sam huffed in breaths of air against him, breathed in the leathery, horsey scent that was his alone.

Sam shook with the relief of it, shook so hard that she was sure she'd fall if Jake let go. She hadn't known known how much she just needed to breathe him in, feel the space underneath his heart that was solely hers. The beat of his heart above her ear flooded her mind, and for the first time in two weeks, Sam felt relief instead of worry.

They were together again.

There was nothing but feelings, feelings that nearly overwhelmed her in their intensity. Sam wanted so much, so much, to tell him everything that he had missed, but she found that there was, in the end, nothing to say that couldn't be said later. She couldn't find the words to express anything. 

They were alone on the side of the house, and the noise of the morning swelled around them. Sam breathed deeply.

Jake's hands were trembling, one brushing over her back in soothing circles, the other carding through her hair gently, as though he needed to feel her around him. The clip that had been in her hair hit the ground with a soft thunk. Sam felt it fall.

Sam was keenly aware of the fact that her skirt was being pushed towards him by the wind that had picked up overnight. Her legs were unshaven, she was likely a bit gross.  She was in pain, but she felt like there were sparklers going off in her soul, warming her blood slowly, thawing her iciness.

Sam closed her ears to anything but the sound of Jake's heartbeat, the feel of his arms around her.

Sam breathed in, let the sounds of the world around them blend together as her eyes closed. Jake's jacket had dust and dirt on it, and Sam knew there would be smudges of it on her face when she moved away, but she didn't care. She leaned into the hug, let Jake take up her weight with as much purposefulness as she tried to hold him.

They had made it through to the other side.

They had done it. She was so overwhelmed that she wanted to vomit. 

They had done it, and there was a heady bliss in knowing, in trusting, that they would never have to do this again. She didn't let herself challenge the absurdity of that assertion, not now. 

Joy rushed through her, filled her heart like Jake's breathing filled her ears. There was such joy in knowing that they weren't alone anymore. Sam felt a weight slip away, so quickly that it stole her breath, overwhelmed her systems.

Therefore, it took her a minute or two to realize that Jake had called her name at least twice. He was blinking at her, concern and something else she couldn't name plain on his face.

"What?" Sam looked up at him, as his tired, haunted eyes, and the tired set of his jaw.

Sam looked at his face with some surprise. He hadn't shaved in a few days, that much was clear. It took Sam aback, mostly because he was freakishly adamant about maintaining a clean-shaven appearance. He was freakishly religious about the practice.

Sam didn't care one way or the other, but it was strange to see how that practice had fallen away over the drive, considering how much he paid attention to that bit of vanity of a daily basis.

It was a silly thing, but such a wave of missing him washed over her that she could barely breathe.

He saw it, felt it, Sam knew. After a second, Jake shook his head, pulled her closer so that his breath brushed her ear in a calming closeness that she had missed like air. "Nothing."

Sam felt the brush of his facial-hair against the sensitive skin of her cheek, and that simple contact was enough to make her stomach tighten with want. She just wanted, so badly.

She wanted. 

Sam breathed, not even caring that he had dropped the topic that had been lurking in his eyes. There didn't need to be anything but this, this moment of rightness in a sea of wrong.

For his part, Jake was literally vibrating with energy.

Sam could feel that he had so much to say. She could feel the words welling up in his chest, getting stuck in his throat as his pulse skittered.

Sam understood. There was nothing to be said that couldn't be said through the rush of their hearts, the firing of synapses Sam had thought dead, the press of palms that told her that everything about the last two weeks made sense in this moment.

 

_I said I wanna touch the earth_

_I wanna break it in my hands_

_I wanna grow something wild and unruly_

_I wanna sleep on the hard ground in the comfort of your arms_

_On a pillow of bluebonnets in a blanket made of stars_

_Cowboy Take Me Away_ , The Dixie Chicks

 

Jake was glad that touching Sam was green-light right now, because he was struggling just to keep his hands to himself enough to not put on a show for the masses. Jake contented himself with staring at her, for at least fifteen seconds as they sat on the couch.

He tried to keep his bearing casual. It wasn't a great idea, not right now, to tell her that he was processing and that he needed her to be there. Sam would understand, but he couldn't expect his brothers to get that he wasn't suddenly all better just because they were home.

They were banking on that, like it was a simple fix. 

He had told them that that was the was the way things worked, even knowing that he was lying. It had been an untruth told for his own sake, as much as theirs, because if he could believe that being home would do those things, then maybe he could survive long enough to make getting home happen.

He thought about the evening's work in the barn, thought about how many times he had watched as Sam came down the center aisle, waiting until touching her would be at least considered reasonable in front of other people.

It wasn't about them. She had been perfectly clear about what she wanted, and so had he, but he knew that there were certain boundaries they needed to hold to right now, no matter their reasons or intent.

He got the idea that people were mostly okay with their relationship, but he knew that that mostly okay could be upset easily, even when people observing them didn't really understand.

He hated when she wasn't in arms reach, with a desperation that bordered on sheer panic. Hours had passed, and they had still been putting things away. Jake was tempted to shove it all in closets to get done, though he'd never admit to it.

They were back inside now, and on the way in, Jake had felt Sam lean into him. She rested back against him, let her eyes close as some kind of alien on the TV was slain.

She was not well, that much he knew, and he ached for her, ached for her wellness and joy just as intently, ached to put his head on her shoulder and tell her he loved her, but that wasn't their dynamic. They didn't do that, not around others. They weren't demonstrative people, at least not with words. He figured that ten seconds was enough of a space for anybody, and pressed his fingers into the small bear on her wrist, in the soft light of the living room.

A soft smile bloomed on her face beneath her closed eyes, and the small sigh that only he heard bordered on erotic, the very thing of fantasies as her rapid pulse slowed. He had missed this, the comfort they found in each other, so much.

Jake studied Sam, and made up his mind. He could literally see the blue network of veins under her skin, see the beat of her pulse. Jake knew what his eyes had been telling him all afternoon now that he counted her pulse slowly.

It was a violation of her trust, he knew, to take her pulse when all she thought he was doing was touching her, but the raised number told him all he needed to know. She was in pain and likely dehydrated.

Jake pushed off of the couch. Sam raised an eyebrow, pulled the blanket over her knees closer, as though she missed his warmth already.

Jake shook his head, tried to smile, tried to tell her that he'd be right back without drawing attention to the silent conversation they'd been having for the last hour or so.

She didn't feel like herself when he held her. Her energy felt so sadly reminiscent of the past. Jake pushed away thoughts of the metaphysical. He was just in a physical kind of place, he guessed.

He just wanted to crawl out of his brain.He was having flashbacks. He could control them, but they were almost always there. Holding Sam grounded him, gave him peace, in a way that nothing else ever would. He hadn't said that earlier. He'd said he'd missed her, like she'd needed to hear the words.

Jake closed his eyes, trying to get his bearings. Watching her, hours later, was terrifying in its familiarity. He could barely breathe when he looked at the fragile pallor of her skin against the brightness of her eyes.

It hurt. She hadn't wanted to go back there, but here he was, looking at her as she had appeared, months and months ago.

He felt like he was looking at a ghost. 

Jake went into the kitchen.

The fridge opened with a thunk and a rattle. Jake hid behind the door, let his guarded expression fall. He wanted to throw the applesauce at the wall and cry.

He was supposed to be overjoyed, be happy, but how could he be happy, knowing even just what he could see of what the last two weeks had been like for her? Once again, Jake had tried to lie to himself over the drive, assure himself as he eked through life that Sam was okay back here. It had been one of the only things that had gotten him through.

He had thought a thousand times of just leaving, just turning back and heading home. He had dreamed of it. There had been nothing but duty, obligation, and a perverse sense of place keeping him out there. There hadn't been literal fences.

He had dreamed, hour after hour, of saying that being out there wasn't what he wanted, wasn't what he needed, even when he knew that somehow, it was. He had wanted, more than anything, to honor Sam's valor in not going in honoring the gift that being there was. He wanted to see the drive through her eyes. He had wanted her to be proud of him, to see that while he wasn't worthy of the unconditional love she gave him, to see that she had not placed her faith in a man who would crumble as he had once before.

And Jake knew that he should have said screw it. Nothing was worth these consequences.

He was going to lose his shit if Sam was having cardiac issues because of the stress her body had been under. She hadn't eaten her dinner. Correction, Jake thought viciously, pulling out the bowl of applesauce from the shelf, she had eaten some mashed potatoes like she had never seen solid food before, and she wasn't sure what she thought of it.

Jake had seen that expression on her face before, months and months ago, in a girl who had thrown up Chinese food and begged for her own death. He heard her words again, as though he was back there, sitting outside that bathroom, leaning against that wall with his knees drawn up. "I can't even eat what I want." She had said. Jake counted to ten under his breath, and his pulse skittered.

Jake's brain flashed forward to another moment, another meal. He saw a mulish expression that lit his soul, and felt a plate of eggs in his trembling hands. He looked down again to see that he was holding a spoon.

This was not the same place, and he had to keep telling himself that those days were long gone.

Jake hid in the kitchen, stared at the bowl of applesauce, stared at the spoon in his hand, and portioned out a bowl he thought was reasonable, but not nearly enough, in any sense of the word. Jake looked down at the applesauce, like it held the secrets of the universe.

He didn't like this. It was nothing more than a loathed ritual that he had once taken comfort in because this was something he could do in the face of something that made him feel small and powerless.

Jake gripped the serving bowl tightly, and put it away resolutely. He felt small, but they were not powerless. They were here, today, in this moment. He was not in a coffee shop, even though the smell of the pot was playing havoc with his tired mind.

He could not trust his mind, as another meal in a coffee shop flashed in front of his eyes. The too sweet tea that had shaken in Sam's hands as he soul had been wrested in two burned his hands, even in his memory. He remembered how it had slowly cooled, the sweet n' low congealing to the bottom of the cup, taking with it answers and safety.

When the refrigerator shut, Jake pulled a soup spoon out of the drainer, stuck the spoon in the bowl.

Jake took down a canister from shook a bit of the powder from the scoop into the applesauce. 

The canister scoop hit the powder with a soft thunk. He stirred the powder in a few times, allowing it to disperse into the applesauce. He must have done this a thousand times, if once, and the routine brought him back again. 

Jake left the kitchen, and saw one more meal in his mind. He couldn't shove the flash of memory away quickly enough.

He recalled the scrape of forks as he had told Sue what was what, even as he had wanted to beg and plead with her to see reason. He thought about doing what was right, and knew that they didn't have to go through any of this hurt again. Jake pushed away the memory, and set the bowl down the table with purpose.

He glanced at Sam.  _You ought to eat this._

Sam seemed to be reading his words, and seemed to not like what she saw there.

She tried to brush him off. She shook her head, and forced a smile. 

Jake was not swayed. He knew what her smiles, beautiful and arresting as they were, hid. 

Sam returned, "What?"

If she thought he was stupid, and hadn't seen her pushing around those potatoes and not really eating them, she had another thing coming.

He didn't say that, because Quinn was currently sitting on the floor in front of them, with Adam, Nate, and Seth, playing video games. Seth occupied the corner chair, Nate the footstool, and Adam the other chair.

They were being watched, and the secrets of their past were theirs alone.

The signposts on this road were theirs alone. He wasn't going to tell everyone in the room that Sam was shaking, trembling in ways that she hadn't in months. They didn't need to know it.

The bear on her wrist stuck out in sharp clarity. It alone proved to Jake that they were not there, that this wasn't that, that they weren't in San Francisco.

Sam shook her head, pushed the bowl away, on the other side of the coffee table.

Jake resisted the urge to help her steady as she placed a hand on the worn wooden table before her to sit up properly after shifting her weight. Jake tried not to jump to conclusions that she was dizzy. The huge sweater she was wearing did not nothing to hide her frailness, nor the steel of her will. "We just ate. I'm fine."

Jake was willing to bet that she was doing a little better now, but that didn't erase the effects of these last weeks, effects that Jake read in the lines of her body. He could see everything, but he knew nothing, and the disconnect shook him to his core.

Jake put the bowl back down next to her, shot her a look, and sat down on her other side. It was there if she wanted it, and nothing more.

Adam probably thought he was helping. "You didn't touch your pie, Sam." He turned the page of the book he was reading, and shot Jake a hopeful look. He thought he was helping.

Sam looked at him sharply, "Do you have some point there, or at you playing at being Sherlock?"

The mood in the room shifted and Jake wasn't sure if he could bring himself to be angry with either of them. The look on Sam's face was defiant, and Adam looked very concerned.

Quinn said, "You're turning down applesauce? Weird."

Mom's applesauce was very good, the stuff of family lore.

Sam frowned, but there was no anger in the motion, only reflection. "It's not the applesauce."

Sam looked at him, then, and he felt as though she was peering into his soul, touching the marrow of his bones with her eyelashes, "It's just...nobody needs to worry. We got through, and that's enough." Her smile was hesitant, but there was a certainty to it that would brook no rejoinder.

Jake tilted the corner of his mouth.

She knew what it meant.

He wasn't trying to push her. He wasn't sorry for doing this, though. It was a bowl of applesauce. It wasn't like he wanted to ply her with applesauce. It was a poor substitute for what he really wanted, but then again, it always would be. He hadn't peeled off every layer of clothing she was wearing, felt along every ridge of her body with his mouth and his hands until she was sure that she was here, and he wasn't hallucinating.

Sam chewed her lip, picked up the bowl, and stuck the spoon in it. She tilted the bowl a little, asking a question that he knew all too well. She knew exactly what his silent gaze was telling her.

He sat down as the video game fired up again, everyone else thinking that the discussion was over now that Sam was eating.

Jake caught her eye, and he knew better. It was something, but she was wrong when she said that it was enough.

 

_Still don't know what I was waitin' for_

_And my time was runnin' wild_

_A million dead end streets and_

_Every time I thought I'd got it made_

_It seemed the taste was not so sweet_

_Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes_

_Turn and face the strange_

_Ch-ch-changes_

_Just gonna have to be a different man_

_Time may change me but I can't trace time_

_Changes_ , David Bowie

Jake walked up the stairs, pushed open the door to his room, and threw his awful hat towards the desk chair, without looking, knowing it would land.

It hit the floor.

Jake opened his tired eyes, and realized that a shower was not on the docket, no matter if it was his appointed time. His room was different. That filled Jake with an awful, awful, feeling. The carpet had been picked up, scrubbed under, and put back down. The books on his book cases were orderly, not just stacked on the shelf. His socks had been put in the dresser. The dresser was...

His furniture had been cleaned. Things had been cleaned up, scrubbed, put away very neatly. Jake backed out of the room, almost tripping over his feet as the lemony smell hit his nostrils. He marched himself resolutely towards the kitchen. Sam and Quinn were scraping dishes, washing them up.

Jake knew he looked something like a thundercloud. "Is that... _that_...supposed to be funny?"

Sam understood what he was asking. "God, no. The dust bunnies under your bed weren't at all funny." Sam added more soap to the dishpan, "Max thinks it's a wonder you don't have respiratory issues. I could have knitted myself a sweater. But then I remembered that dust is mostly dead skin, so I..."

She trailed off, looking at him with suddenly sympathetic eyes. He didn't dust much anymore because it moved his stuff, and after the accident, he had become even more careful about spaces that let him relax. He was careful about not upsetting the balance, because he couldn't tell what change would be changing the one thing that made him feel safe in that space.

Jake knew that this outpouring of words from here was a holdover from the last few weeks. She hadn't said much, and all of the words were welling out of her. Jake was glad that he was glad to hear them. He didn't understand why she had done what she had done, but at this point, he was trying to breathe, and just focus on the fact that she had been in the room when he'd entered it. He'd missed that, missed turning his head and seeing her there, near to him.

Quinn caught sight of Jake's expression.

Jake knew that Quinn was enjoying this, mostly because he thought that it was only something from Jake's personality, not something that had been exacerbated by terror and pain. "Wearing someone's dead skin is kind of creepy, Sammy. It makes you seem clingy."

Sam snorted, swished water around a glass. "Hmmm..." She seemed mostly noncommittal about that accusation.

Jake wished she would be a little more clingy. She seemed so focused on working, working, working. He didn't get why she had to be the one to methodologically oversee each dish, why she had to be the one to clear the table, why she had insisted on being up in everything in the barn. She had been the first one there, and the last one to leave.

Something was very wrong. She wouldn't sit down, wouldn't even stop to breathe, and yet Jake knew that something was up with her energy. It felt almost desperate. Jake didn't move, didn't dare blink. He crossed his arms over his chest.

Quinn turned around from drying a plate, and grinned, "Sammy. Tell me you didn't move his rock collection or something."

Jake rolled his eyes at his brother. Siger bounded into the room, followed by Gal, who seemed so over the younger dog's antics. His old rock collection was not junk, no matter what Quinn said.

Sam wiped her hands on the back of her skirt, and turned around. Gal nudged her, proving her pack order over Siger, because she got to Sam first. She patted their heads, and let Siger cozy up to her. "I promise I did not move your rock collection, nor did Max. I very carefully dusted around them." Sam knew that this was hard for him, but she was trying to tease him out of a funk. He didn't get in funks. It was just hard when his stuff was moved, and those rocks were ordered very scientifically. "I was bored. I just...needed..."

"I..." Jake fumbled, "You didn't need to go to the trouble."

He felt awkward. He hadn't thought of the work she had undertaken on his behalf, or how it might have made her feel that she was nearer to him, however oddly she had expressed it. He had only seen the changes, and that had thrown him off. He didn't like change. However, he liked what he was slowly putting together now even less.

He was seeing Sam as Matrona had known her, in rehab. Had having Matrona here been a good idea?

There was so much that Jake did not know about Sam's time in rehab, but he knew what he was seeing now, and he couldn't help but question everything that had led back to this place in her heart.

"You're welcome." Sam replied, "I did clean out the Scout, though." She seemed almost impish about that fact, a false front that she wanted to project so strongly so he wouldn't bother to look too deeply.

She was hiding something about this cleaning spree. It was her efforts he saw, not the general things Mom did every year during the drives. Mom did not go into bedrooms. She always said she wasn't a maid service and her only obligation, she said, was general upkeep so that Family Services didn't get involved, and so she could live in as much peace as possible.

Sam, though, had fiddled around with his things, his spaces.

Jake understood why, though, when she added, "I needed something to do, and I wasn't going into that HazMat zone of Quinn's." She shot Quinn a look, and he protested weakly. Sam had needed something to do to keep her going, and the anger and the fight drained away.

Did he really care about his messy desk, in the grand scheme of things? Really? No.

He cared about what had driven Sam to the point that she was buzzing around like this, as though if she stopped, she would crumble to dust.

Jake was about to say something when he saw the utter exhaustion rise in Sam's eyes. She was holding onto this facade, for some reason, and it was important to her that he not question it. He was there, dulling the green vibrancy of her gaze. "I'm just going to go shower."

Jake hoped Sam would understand what he was doing and saying in that action. She wouldn't quite meet his eyes, so Jake felt jittery and undone as he left the room.

Halfway up the stairs, he heard Quinn say, "Why is he so worried about his room? It's not like he sleeps there."

Jake heard a splat. He heard Quinn exhale. Sam, Jake figured, had taken it upon herself to throw a dishrag at Quinn. From the sound of it, at least she had been kind of enough to wring it out first.

_You thought by now you'd be so much better than you are_

_You thought by now they'd see that you had come so far_

_And the pride inside their eyes would synchronize into a love you've never know_

_So much more than you've been shown_

_Hold on_

_One more time with feeling_

_Try it again_

_Breathing's just a rhythm_

_Say it in your mind until you know that the words are right_

_This is, why we, fight_

_This is, why, we fight_

_One More Time With Feeling,_ Regina Spektor

Sam left the door open. The light from the hallway poured into her room before Jake flipped on the light. It was an odd change.

Jake sprawled out in her desk chair, threw his hat down upon the desk, like he couldn't bear to have it on his head. It wasn't right, but Sam knew that she could make it so, at least in this small way.

Sam glanced at her dresser. "I have something for you. It's kind of like a...present." Sam didn't like that, because she hadn't made this, only fixed it. "But it's already yours, so, I mean, not really..."

Sam broke off when Jake leaned forward a little bit, his eye glued upon the Troxel  box on her dresser. Sam was glad that she had kept the box, because it was the only thing that his hat would fit in, flatly. She had tried to think of a way to wrap it, and nothing had worked.

She had worked for almost a week to clean, dry, reblock, and fix it up, that she wasn't going to smush it with any wrapping. "You got me a helmet?"

Sam picked up the box, and shook her head. She wasn't about to shake the box. Its contents had been living in her bathroom for the last week. "I spent the last week on this, so you're going to like it."

She worried that he wouldn't think as highly of what she had done as she hoped he would. She hoped that in telling him to try and like it, that he would be more okay with her intervention than if she didn't warn him and he just opened the box cold.

She had all but forced Darrell to come along with her, to follow the river, until she saw his hat caught in some of the low water, battered and drenched, but still whole. She had refused to turn around, and Darrell had not understood this mission until she had stopped, stopped, and exhaled, a weight of guilt leaving her soul as she had pointed.

Darrell had gone out to fetch it. She hadn't wanted to begin this project with a lie, and there was absolutely no way that she was telling Jake that she had gone back into the La Charla, no matter how much calmer it was, without him there. She hadn't wanted to do it, anyway.

Jake didn't take the box, too perceptive for his own good. "You don't need to give me something because we fought. It had nothing to do with us."

"It did." Sam disagreed, outlining what she had come to believe about the tensions that had swirled around them for ages. She had had a lot of time to think, and all those discussions with Ella had been for something. "I think that subconsciously, we were anticipating having to separate, and were trying to head it off emotionally. I think we just wanted to beat the pain to the punch."

"Only made it worse, I guess." Jake allowed, and Sam knew that for the both of them, that statement was a vast understatement of the facts. However, the statement was a moment of healing. They had made their suffering worse, they knew it, and they didn't have to do it again. "What's that for, then?"

Sam grinned. "Maybe you don't look like you." Jake's hand went to his face, and he rubbed awkwardly. She picked up the box, rolled her eyes. "Just open it already."

Slowly, Jake took the box. Sam knew the second that he saw his hat. He looked up at her, looked down at the hat, and looked up at her again. "How'd you find another?"

His hat wasn't all that expensive, but it had become something that was now hard to find. Jake was picky as all get-out, so he'd stuck to the same style for years. Some time back, the company had stopped making this particular hat, and Jake had been rather protective of it since that point in time.

Sam didn't say anything. Jake pulled the hat of the box, and began to look it over. "Was it eBay?" He felt the brim in his fingers, almost like he was afraid to put it on. He turned it over, "Thanks, Sam."

Sam didn't really want his thanks. If he assumed she had purchased it, it would have been purchased with his money, because she was still broke. She needed to do something about that, and soon. "Look at the stitching." Sam didn't need to point out the repair that he'd had done. He had been furious about having to mail his hat away, so furious that he hadn't said two words about it.

Jake just stared at her, something akin to shock on his face. Sam wanted him to understand, and the intensity of his gaze set her to talking. "Darrell found it, and I fixed it, and it's..." Sam took stock of his expression. It had shifted somehow. "It's just a hat, Jake, really, I mean..."

"Sam." Jake shook his head, put his hat on his head, and corrected her and questioned her knowledge of everything, "Nobody says their hat is just a hat."

Sam grinned.

There was a hint of a laugh bubbling up in Jake's mustang eyes.

He seemed to want to say something further. Sam knew that he was wanting to bridge the gap between between them. She wanted to know how he was doing okay, but he needed to know that they would be okay. He needed to know that, she needed to believe it, and there was only one way to make that happen. It came down to the idea that Ella was right.

They needed to have a real conversation about their headspace.

Sam bit her lip. This felt odd, like something strange was building between them. There was no ease, no matter how much humor she would have normally found in that statement. Jake was clinging to his hat, his fingers white, nearly crushing the brim. "How bad was it?"

Sam knew she had done the wrong thing in his eyes. A shutter came down in his eyes. Jake swallowed, a small twitch along his throat. "It's over."

Sam tried to collect herself. This wasn't going to be an easy conversation. "I just think we need to talk about it." Sam tried to explain her thoughts.

Jake lashed out, a scared look his face. Sam knew she was pushing every last button he had. She was too close to a very, very, painful spot for him. "It's over. What is there to say about it?" There was a note of finality in his voice that dared her to contradict him.

Fortunately, Sam had no compunction in putting her cards down on the table in front of him. She had never been shy about calling him out. "We faced our worst fears over the last two weeks. Don't you think that at least deserves some kind of…" She tried to be gentle.

Sam saw the look that came over Jake's face as he went rigid, and she fell silent.

He was getting it. They had faced down some of the biggest demons in their minds, and they had come out on the other side. It was a terrifying realization, and Sam knew that they needed to figure out how to cope with it. She didn't know how to cope with the idea that this could happen again. She wasn't coping so well with everyone being back because all she could think about was anticipating the next departure. She wanted, for example, to lock the door behind them and press herself into their shared space so that she could finally be assured that he was there and wasn't going to leave.

She had been so naive in thinking that everyone's arrival would set them back of the careful status quo that they had developed over the last few months. She had been wrong. They had to work for that balance, sometimes. Her balance was gone from her, because time had taken so much. She wasn't going to offer up their relationship, not like she had back in San Francisco.

There were so many things she should have done differently. She knew that now. She was not the same person. It was very clear to her, now. She was not the same person she had once been, and that was okay. She had made mistakes, too many to count, but she didn't have to let herself make them again in similar surroundings. They had a choice here, and she was going to make her choice boldly and with hope, and pray that Jake did the same. They were not powerless.

She knew that she should have advocated differently for herself, should have made her wishes resolute to her father, should have simply told Jake she wanted him with her from day one. She knew now that he wanted to be with her, wanted that as much as she wanted to be with him. She wasn't sure why she had ever doubted that fact. It made her feel silly, even as the way he reached out to her made her heart slow.

Jake paused as he sat down on the bed and wrapped his arms around her. "I couldn't cope, Sam." He was brutally honest. Sam felt every bit of the pain and suffering in his voice. She saw the way he bunched up with self-loathing.

Sam felt his pain. It was hard not to feel like you shouldn't be better. She had spent the last two weeks kicking herself because she couldn't be perfectly adjusted. However, Sam knew there was a certain freedom in admitting that she was where she was. She wanted them to move forward, so they had to accept where they were.

Sam swallowed. She shifted because her spine hurt, and because she wanted to be closer to him. "Neither could I." She pulled back, and rested her head on his shoulder, loathing the space between them, "But maybe we can try, now."

 

_But it'll do, save yourself, serve yourself_

_World serves its own needs, listen to your heart bleed_

_Tell me with the Rapture and the reverent in the right, right_

_You vitriolic, patriotic, slam fight, bright light_

_Feeling pretty psyched_

_It's the end of the world as we know it_

_It's the end of the world as we know it_

_It's the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine_

_It's the End of the World_ , R.E.M.

 

Jake woke up and everything was different in the space a nanosecond, even the soft grey light that hit his bleary eyes as Cougar dug his evil claws into his toes.

Jake hissed, and the cat retracted his claws, to sit directly over Jake's bladder. "Fool cat." Jake whispered, as the cat butted against his injured toes in apology, like he wished he hadn't had to stick his claws in so deeply. The cat flicked his tail and hopped off the bed. He didn't disagree.

Actually, Jake thought, not ten seconds later, when the cat in question took offense and hoped off him to slink away to the door, he was brilliant. The animal was no doubt hungry, or wanting ice in his water bowl, and thought that waking somebody was the easiest way to get what he wanted.

Jake had no intention of getting up yet. The bed was warm, and cramped, and tangled, and there was a rightness to this moment that made him question if last night had been a dream, only to realize that he had found some understanding, though he knew he would never really know how he had done it.

He had woken up in the middle of the night, somehow surprised that a nightmare wasn't ripping him apart. Somewhere in that sleepy clarity that came with connecting to his innermost thoughts, Jake had looked up at Sam, sprawled out of the bed, half-on top of him.

He had been pressed up against her, between the wall, somehow, and her, leaving him no room to move. Jake's thoughts were slow, but honest. He fell slowly back to sleep, knowing that he was home again, that things were right again. He had brushed her hair away from her face, and paused, shocked because he had realized that she was right.

They had survived this. They had survived this, whatever this was, and nothing would take that knowledge away from him. Jake finally understood what she had been trying to say in the living room last night. They were okay. They were okay. They weren't well, they weren't well-adjusted, or case studies of sane people, but they were alive to face the day, alive and willing to try.

Maybe they were bruised and battered again, but they knew what they were doing. He wasn't powerless this time, and neither was Sam. They knew where they were, and because of that, they could get out of here faster, if only they leaned on each other and tried to be there for each other. Jake trusted their ability to get the heck out of this emotional hellhole. They had done it once, with far greater challenges, far greater odds. This time, nobody was splitting them up, and if they tried, they had a plan in place.

Maybe being kicked down again over these last few months, first with the hospital, and then with the drive, had been a lesson, somehow. They had resisted their separation, tried to make it easier but bringing out of all of the pain in anticipation. Sam was right about that fight. It hadn't been about anything but wanting to react out of fear, wanting to hurt so that new hurt wouldn't add to it. They were reacting to tensions they had been feeling for weeks, and in realizing that Sam was right, Jake had started to think, his thoughts a tangle he still couldn't work out. He still didn't know how he knew what he knew, only that he knew it.

He had no idea what today would bring, or where they would even end up, but he knew that something significant had happened last night when Sam had pressed his cleaned hat into his hands. He knew that there were parts of himself that he had lost to PTSD, parts of his world and his being that the accident had ripped away.

He wasn't okay with that, wasn't okay with how hard the drive had been on Sam. He wasn't okay with seeing her try to navigate the world in new ways because the world had kicked them in the teeth. He wasn't okay with so much of this. But Jake knew now, that he couldn't run from things. He couldn't run from the pain. He had tried, in so many moments. In facing it, though, however grudgingly, however unwittingly, Jake had learned a few things.

He had learned so many things, things he couldn't really put into words except to say that he had woken up knowing that Sam was right, that they had gotten through, and that she was right, that it was enough, in and of itself. It wasn't a blinding moment of clarity that made all the pieces fall into place, but it was enough. It was progress, and it was enough.

And maybe, just maybe, one day, he would be able to smile and say that these experiences had given his life meaning. For now, though, he was content to know that there were parts of them that these experiences had made stronger. They had learned to come together, to take care of each other, to understand and accept each other's foibles and weaknesses.

He was beginning to understand all of the things that were happening, that had happened, had gotten them to this moment. While he would never be glad for the pain, he was sure that this moment was perfect enough, right enough, that it would all be worth it, in the end.

Jake didn't know, though, because Sam was staring at him. "Hey." Sam pushed herself up on her elbow, flexed her toes against his calf, smiled in that way of hers, as she nuzzled against him. He felt safe. Warm. Loved.

Jake made a soft sound against her neck, put his hand gently there, to rub at some beard burn there. She had teased him last night, in the barn, about his shaving habits, but he hadn't known how to tell her that he kept such a close shave out of consideration for her. She was the one who had to deal with the abrasions, after all. He didn't like knowing that he'd put marks on her skin. "Sorry."

"It's worth it-" Sam blew out a breath, as Jake flicked a glance at the shut door. He didn't want this to go too far, not if there was a chance that somebody could open the door, even though it had been open in the middle the night...

Jake lost his train of thought when he saw Sam's expression. "-because I love you."

He didn't have words to tell her what her words meant to him, what she meant to him. He found them, though, somehow, in the truth reflected in her eyes. It was one truth he never wanted to run away from, and it would always be enough.

 

_You know some days I'm tempted to run away and hide_

_'Cause I can't miss the bad luck that's fallin' from the sky_

_I'm under some dark cloud, and there's only one way out_

_I look at you, when the world is full of lies_

_I look at you, and the truth is in your eyes_

_I look at you, when I lay me down at night and I want to see a dream come true_

_I look at you, and I know I've got it all_

_You touch my hand, and the burdens start to fall_

_You ease my troubled mind, I love you more each time I look at you_

_I look at You_ , George Strait 


End file.
